Plura Ater Nox ::Many Dark Nights::
by Chikita
Summary: FINISHED! Set in WWII; the Seiryuu Seishi have been reincarnated along with their counterparts, the Suzaku, Byakko and Genbu Seishi. They are forced to work with new allies. adult themes; racial, suicide, sexual situations... 40 chapters
1. Dramatis Personae

FPlura Ater Nox**Plura Ater Nox  
**_Personae Dramatis  
_**  
Andreas, JC** – a reincarnation of Nakago from New Orleans, Louisiana. He serves as a captain in the armed forces of the United States of America. In his spare time plays the saxophone for a local jazz band and dreams of finding Soi.  
  
**Beauregard, Aimée** – a reincarnation of Soi from Paris. She is a quiet Parisian girl who enlisted in the army as a nurse to avoid a marriage she didn't want. She is very ambitious and believes in the theory of survival of the fittest.  
**  
Dallas, Jeremiah** – the reincarnation of Amiboshi. He is from San Francisco California. Orphaned as an infant, he never knew any other life. To escape the miserable life he had, he enlisted in the armed forces of the United States of America at the age of sixteen.  
**  
Dietrich, Theodor** – the reincarnation of Tokaki, from Vienna, Austria, now in Berlin. He is one of three Byakko Seishi who have been reincarnated in Germany and is a member of the White Rose.  
  
**Faulkner, Marcus** – Chichiri's reincarnation. The man is a former lieutenant that fought in the Great War. He is now a retired monk who wishes to distance himself from the war.  
  
**Hongou, Yui** - Seiryuu no Miko. Her family is attempting to escape Japan in the heat of the war; they don't feel safe there any more. She keeps dreaming of finding Suboshi again, she wants to feel his love again.  
  
**Llewellyn, Chelsea** – the reincarnation of Chiriko. She is a soft-spoken but intelligent young woman from the Welsh countryside, who wishes to do something more with her life besides to be a housewife. She has a crush on Brennan Mackenzie, but also has her sights on his best friend…  
  
**Kennedy, Séamus** – the reincarnation of Suboshi, from Dublin Ireland. He's a far cry from his last incarnation. While he does get into fights, he doesn't kill anyone unless he absolutely has to. He refuses to join the allied forces because of the horror stories he heard from his father.  
  
**Keplar, Albrecht** – the reincarnation of Hikitsu, from Berlin, Germany. He's an SS officer serving in Austria.  
  
**Mackenzie, Brennan** – the reincarnation of Tasuki, also from Dublin. He's nothing short of what he was before. He hasn't changed much, he still curses, drinks and enjoys a good brawl. There is one difference, he now likes girls and is in love with Chelsea Llewellyn.  
  
**Marshall, Dwight** – the reincarnation of Mitsukake. He enlisted in the British armed forces during the Great War. He is now a general, heading a large number of men he regrets having to send in to face German forces.  
  
**Schnip, Aaron** – the reincarnation of Ashitare, also from Berlin. He's nothing more than a pawn and works for the Gestapo.  
  
**Sculdich, Elisabet** – the reincarnation of Subaru, from München, now in Berlin. She is also a member of the White Rose.  
  
**St. Pierre, Angelique** – the reincarnation of Nuriko, native to Dunkirk. She is friends with Aimée and despises German occupancy of France, for very different reasons than most of the others, for she holds a secret that if reveal mean her death.  
  
**Stern, Achan** – the reincarnation of Tomite, born in Austria. He's the feisty younger brother of Arielle and isn't afraid to pick fights and often picks them with the wrong people.  
  
**Stern, Arielle** – the reincarnation of Iname. She's the cautious older sister of Achan and tries to keep him out of trouble so the Germans ignore them.  
  
**Stonewall, Russell** – the reincarnation of Hotohori, born in London. He's an ambitious man, seeking peace, but is not afraid to get blood on his hands in order to get what he wants. He serves in the British armed forces as a captain.  
  
**Sukanami, Taka** - The reincarnation of Tamahome, now living in Japan, married to Suzaku no Miko, Miaka. He doesn't much care for the war, and will do whatever he can to protect her.  
  
**Sukanami, Miaka** - Suzaku no Miko, now married to Taka. She misses her friend Yui very dearly and wonders about her well-being, as well as where the rest of her Seishi are and if they have been reincarnated.  
  
**Van Eyke, Johann** – the reincarnation of Tomo. The man serves in the German military and is a lieutenant with a sizeable brigade. He heads the small faction that occupies Dunkirk. He now has his eye on the one prize sought by JC Andreas, Soi.  
  
**Yorck, Wherther** – the reincarnation of Miboshi. He is a spy for German forces and works out of the monastery.  
  
**Wendell, Nickolaus** – the reincarnation of Tatara, born in Kiel (north Germany), now in Berlin. He also serves the White Rose as the communication specialist.  



	2. Prologue: Memories of War

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Prologue**

**2002**

A young man, about no more than perhaps twenty years of age, no more, no less, stood.  He had a small smile over his lips; a small morose smile.  His eyes were downcast, almost shimmering as though tears were at the floodgates.  His hair was matted to his face, mud on his face, caked on with assistance from the thick layer of perspiration that was in static motion of dripping from his face.

Next to this young man, was another of a slighter height.  He seemed to have lighter hair, indicting he might be a blond of sorts.  His face had a sharper contour to his, it his further apart, though showing the same emotion, as he faced in the same direction as his friend; the same level of distress written over his features.

His clothes, like that of his friend's, were slightly torn, frayed at the edges and dirtied from what appeared to have been some type of battle grounds, as was reflected behind them in a sprawling scene of death.

This young man was mirrored on his right by someone who was evidently his twin brother.  The twin didn't appear to be as fazed, perhaps it was apathy that had hardened him, maybe something else.  But, whatever it was prevented him from displaying the same emotion that was reflecting in his twin's eyes.

In the far background, stood a pair hidden, concealed if you will, they appeared to be a man and a woman.  The woman had her hands over her eyes.  If not for the overtly sensual feminine shape she possessed, one would have thought her a man, for she was pressed against the body of a tall man, with pale hair, possibly blonde.  While she was disturbed, he seemed unfazed, at least in his expression.  Upon closer inspection, if one looked hard, they could see the signs of raw human emotion brimming over in his eyes.

Silhouetted behind all four was a final figure, a shadow.  He held a staff of sorts; his cape seemed to be caught on the wind, as it gracefully billowed out behind him, creating an air of mystery about him.

Each of these individuals captured in the simple black and white photograph that was preserved in a frame immensely fascinated a young girl who was in her mid-teens, as she sat, holding it.  She couldn't help but to wonder why it was like this…

She sighed and looked over at her grandfather who sat in his rocking chair, holding his pipe in thoughtful contemplation.  She stood up and walked over, coming to kneel in front of him.  She held out the photograph to him and inquired.  "Granddad, who are these people, and why do they look so sadden?"

Taking the photo from his granddaughter, the elderly man took the glasses from his pocket and perched them on the end of his nose, as he examined the photograph carefully.  "Aye m'lass, th'year 'tis 1943, at th'height o' th'war with 'em Nazis whence it was taken.  We was in France, jus' followin' a mighty dirty battle with 'em bloody Nazis."

"I thought you never were in the army.  Mama told me you had never gone to war…" the girl inclined her head, staring curiously at her grandfather.

"Aye, ne'er did tell yer ma or any o 'er brothers that 'cause yer grandma didn't talk o' it neither.  We ne'er planned on tellin', best kept hidden; a stone best left unturned.  E'en so, th'battle was ne'er planned and merely done fer th'success of one snooty bloody American Captain by the name o' JC Andreas.  'Course they was all crooked bastards, they didn't care fer no one but 'em selves.

"But we fought, 'twas me friend's idea.  He made me go after yer grandma sweet-talked me with th'battin' of her long lashes and the touch o' 'er hand on me skin…"  The elderly man sighed wistfully as he thought of his wife.  She was alive still, but out of the house visiting an old friend of hers from the war.

He, however, was at home in their quaint one-bed room house with his youngest granddaughter kneeled in front of him, her eyes wide with an eagerness, prompting him to tell his story. 

"Please, it's been so long, can you tell me?  I've seen that photo lots and I want to know why everyone is so sad.  You're reacting even now, are you going to tell me?"

A heart laugh escaped the elderly man as he reached out a hand, touching to his granddaughter's face and brushing long strands of rusty red-brownish strands of hair from her face.

"Aye I shall lass, ay shall…"


	3. Surfacing Memories

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 1**

**Author's Notes**: This fanfic came on whim and was written when I could find nothing else to write. It's going to be different from most of the others that I've written in that I make use of a variety of characters and do a lot of scene changes in order to get a large cast in. As a result, this is going to be quite a few chapters in length, longer than anything else I've written solo before. 

Just some facts to know about this piece itself. It's set in WWII; thus, it is an AU ficcie. I know you're thinking: "huh?" but let me explain. I shifted the entire time frame of FY into the time frame of 1941-42. The Mikos are from this era instead of the 90s. They still do find Shijin Tenchisho and meet their Seishi. This is set post that. It's a reincarnation fanfic. I hope everyone likes it. It'll seem a bit strange at first because I make abrupt scene changes, but it's meant to be like that. 

I was originally going to call it Shades of Revolution but I changed my mind, so, it's as it is. I hope everyone likes it. It's a bit strange because I have somewhat butchered the time period in which this is set (changed some historical facts to make it fit my piece).

DISCLAIMER: I do not own FY, nor do I own any of its characters. They belong to Watase Yuu and co. All original characters are copyright of Ai-chan ©2002. 

**1941**

Out of sight, offset to the side, on a base training site run by the House of Commons and the House of Lords, headed by the King at Buckingham, two important figures. One leading a brigade in the American sector, and the other leading the British brigade, faced off, at odds with each other.

The first, the Captain, second in rank of the 10th company of the United States Army, Captain JC Andreas, was about six feet in height, with striking blond hair and piercing blue eyes, stood tall, not moving. His imposing air gave him unmatched confidence as he faced the other, a Captain of the Imperial Guard of his Majesty, Captain Russell Stonewall IV. The British captain was matched in height against his American counterpart. The difference, he bore a regal air to both his speech and his mannerisms. His hair, though not long, was a deep chocolate brown complimented by his gentle hazel eyes.

The pair were on the ground troops training field, facing each other, the backdrop behind them, was a setting sun with their troops running one last lap before heading off to the mess hall for the third square meal of the day. The captains appeared to be angered by the other's presence, but waited till they were alone.

The first, JC Andreas, drew the ceremonial sword that went with his traditional, formal military uniform. He held it out, pointing the tip at the base of the other captain's throat, touching the cold stainless steel metal to the warm flesh of his throat.

A distinct yet subtle smirk tugged at the lips of the blonde captain. He was immensely enjoying the hatred that radiated from the other man. It was food and more to him. If he could live off one thing, it would be this.

In a cool and very composed voice, he stated, "once this war against the Nazis is over, your life will be over before it ever had a chance to start, _Seishuku Saihitei_." He placed notable, mocking emphasis on the other person's name, trying to drive a point home before he brought his ceremonial sword from the other man's throat, replacing it in the sheath.

Turning curtly on his heel, Captain Andreas said nothing more to the other man, he only wanted to leave his threat in place, leave the other man to wonder, contemplate the very meaning of his words.

Unfortunately, that didn't come to. Captain Stonewall reacted with incredible speed and accuracy. Drawing his sword swiftly, he moved forward, aggressively pressing the sharp blade against the neck of the American Captain. In a scathing, hissing tone, he replied, "though I have no recollection of what point you're attempting to drive home, rest assured, that you will not be my demise, you son of a bitch!"

"My, my, such lowly improper words from a man who was once so regal, so important. From a man who once ruled a country from his Imperial court as he struggled against the strongest country of them all. His life was lost in vain, and now, once more, he utters more vain words of how he will not come to an end. Such ignorance."

Deftly pulling himself from the grasp of the infuriated man, Captain Andreas wandered off toward the officer's mess hall, only once looking back over his shoulder to cast a smirk at the man known as Captain Stonewall. "We shall see who will be the victorious one at the end of this war, we shall see…_Seishuku Saihitei_. Don't forget where you stand, below me. You shall fall once more."

Focusing his sights dead ahead, Captain Andreas tossed his short hair out of his face, as his bangs were tickling his face. He had longer than the normal brush cut, as he had grown it out since acquiring his position of Captain of his own company of Elite Infantry men, equipped with tanks and assault arsenal. He only kept the best, the rest he would place into other areas. This was his way of gaining ranking. Any other way would just be a vain struggle uphill.

'We have one Suzaku Seishi, six more to find. Once more I will take over. There are at least a couple Seiryuu Seishi in the area, or perhaps more, but they don't know who they are yet. They will know soon enough. They will be good for a purpose. I know my one second class private meets the standards, a pity he hurt his wrist. He'll make a good shield on the front lines when we launch an attack on the Nazis. I hate to see the boy die, but that's the only thing Dallas, or rather, Amiboshi is good for. The pacifist dies for his ideals because he is naïve.' Captain Andrea's eyes twinkled dangerously.

~~~~

Out near the launching docks of Dublin where the German U-boats have come into refuel at the invitation of the IRA, a small fight between the IRA rebels and defendants of the crown, the Protestants, breaks out. It is all in the name of freedom. Or, that was what they thought. They continued their century old feud despite the growing tensions over on mainland Europe, as the British, French, Canadian and other allied troops saw their numbers get slaughtered by the hundreds and thoughts.

Only recently had the Americans joined in the fray of the war. They were holding posts across the United Kingdom for the most part. Only their Air Force would make campaigns over to bomb Berlin and other important bases held by the Nationalist Germans. The ground troops remained in UK for training exercises, while the Marine Corps re-equipped themselves following the losses they experienced at Pearl Harbour following the December 7th attacks launched by the Empire of Japan.

One of the ground troop companies was near the docks, off duty. They paid no mind to the sparking fight between IRA and the UVF (Ulster Volunteer Force). They had been informed to not interfere with civilian activities, for they were only there to serve the United States of America and rescue its allies: England, France and Europe from the menace known as Nationalist Germany.

One of the young men, twitched. He felt something stir within him. He couldn't explain to anyone else why he was reacting like this. He knew it had something to do with past memories of a life. The entity within him seemed to try to want his attention, force him to notice the presence of its other half…

Looking up, he stared into the clear sky above. 'What is it…the one that looks identical to me that I keep seeing in my dreams?'

He wanted to know. He needed to know. He really, truly yearned to know why he was feeling this, why all of a sudden, after 19 years he was feeling this. Before then, he hadn't felt like there was a force calling out for him. He had merely been plagued with strange dreams of another world. It seemed to be a world much like the Ancient China he had heard about in the tales as told by his father. Yet, it was different. The world he saw in his dreams was very surreal. The presence of a girl from another world, a Priestess who could summon a God from the heavens, and seven mystical, celestial warriors who were created to be her protectors, whom in turn had been blessed with near super-human powers that no others had.

But, it seemed worlds away from the home he had been raised in, in San Francisco. The home he knew was peaceful, no worry about war. He had only known about the nasty little aspect of life known as the Great Depression that began with the panicked, mass sales of stock on Wall Street, the Dow Jones and the NASDAQ. It sent the economy of the United States plummeting down into a deep, deep recession of the thirties from the prosperous era of the Roaring Twenties.

The young man had been born in the twenties, specifically in the year of 1923, around the time of the great earthquake of San Francisco. He knew that many had suffered and there was an incredible loss of lives on that day. He knew he was safe, and his parents were. Or so he thought his parents were. 

The young man sighed softly then, his hand touched the nameplate he wore on his uniform. It read: "Dallas". He smiled, remembering the remarks about his surname, as it was also the name of a southern city. 

Once more, he gazed up, feeling the same electrical surge lance his body. The same itch called his attention, begged for him to answer. He brushed it off in the same curt manner, as before, it wasn't really important, if it was, he'd know. Yet, there was a nagging sensation about it that drove him nuts. It wouldn't let him go.

Shaking his head violently, the young man, Second Class Private Jeremiah Dallas, tried to shake the feeling and sensations from his body. He didn't understand, nor accept it. It was utterly disturbing to say the least. He had these flashes before, but none as strong as this, and none as ruthless as this.

'Ye gads and little fish! What the hell is this? Why won't it let me go? Why do I keep seeing images of Ancient China and a young boy identical to me? Why do I keep getting called names I'm not! I'm not "Koutoku", or "Amiboshi", "Kaika"…or "Chiriko"! And I sure as hell ain't anybody's bloody twin! I was born a single child and lived an only child! I don't have a twin!' Jeremiah thought bitterly, his hands grasping his head. 

At this, his right shoulder heated up, a small blue light throbbing beneath his uniform, the inner essence within him suddenly flaring to life. With this instance, the eyes of Jeremiah flashed with a strange glint before returning to normal.

'Again? Why? I do _not_ deserve this bullshit!' He shivered. "This is strange…"

~~~~

He stood in the shadows. He only watched, watched as his small team slaughtered the other morons who had for so long opposed Catholic rule. While he stood in the shadows, he casually took out a rolled fag and lit up. He only did this once in a while during a fight like this. He found that it calm him in such times. To be worried and edgy during a fight did him no good, he needed to be calm; opium did that. Calmness was the secret to winning each battle he fought everyday. He may only just be a high school graduate, but he wasn't a normal teenage boy, he was part of a terrorist militia that only wanted one thing, a free Irish state. They wanted to be a whole sovereign land, free of British rule.

He regarded his position, as a fly-by night terrorist, fighter; it was just a sideline pastime. It wasn't truly what he chose in his style of combat. Though he did use hard line arsenal, he preferred his own mind-made weapon and poisoned darts. Those he used when he did his real work, assassinations.  
  
Slowly he inhaled the smoke. It felt good as it went down his throat. He hated cigarettes, yet he didn't mind a rolled fag once in a blue moon especially since headquarters had an abundant supply of this crap. He noticed that he was feeling slightly light-headed, It made him feel loose, just how he needed to go into battle.   
  
He held the smoke in his mouth before blowing out his nose. He continued to watch the fight as he exhaled the intoxicating smoke through his nose. After doing so, he again raised the rolled soporific to his lips and took another inhale. Again, like the other one, it was slow and pensive. He liked to savour the taste during one of those rare times when he smoked this stuff. He preferred the taste only once in a while, the rest of the time he would have thrown up if he smoke this illegal crap; opium. He was half way through the fag when he felt an aggressive tap on his shoulder. He turned to see his friend standing there.  
  
"Yo, jackass, don't hog the damn thing!" his friend exclaimed in rough, unpolished Irish Gaelic, as he took the fag from his friend. "I've been fighting, wasting my energy and you're over here doing sweet-dick all. Go and fight. Don't like, ya can kiss my fucking Irish ass!"  
  
"In time Brennan." The shorter youth, Séamus Kennedy replied calmly in the same tongue, only his speech was more polished. "And besides which, you didn't have to take that one from me. Wanker boy, you have your own. You're just too bloody cheap to light your own fag."  
  
"Yea I know," Brennan Mackenzie replied coolly, as he took a quick inhale.  
  
Séamus sighed as he eyed the fighting group. "Looks I should teach these knaves a thing or two about respecting their superiors, namely us, the IRA. So, should I give them a dose of reality or just do whatever?"  
  
"Listen to your heart man." Brennan replied, speaking like a new-age mediator as he exhaled the smoke through his mouth.  
  
Séamus nodded and waltz over calmly to the first loser Ulster Protestant he spotted. He calmly walked up. Séamus' expression had been clamed and blank before he came up to this man. Suddenly it seemed to change, it become filled with profound disgust for the man. As well, his eyes glinted like that of a cold-blooded murderer. Although he wasn't in this life, he had been before, in some past life. He didn't honestly believe that he had a past life, but wondered why he kept having dreams of such things. Especially when he killed in cold blood for the ones he loved and cared about...about a little too much.  
  
From his sheath that was attached to his belt, Séamus drew his long dagger that had a finely crafted wooden handle with a small carving of what looked like a dragon. He couldn't explain it, but he felt some sort of draw to such a creature and felt the desire to have it engraved on the handle of his favourite weapon.  
  
He took a fighting stance that would allow for his favourite lunged attack. His opponent took a more standard hands-on-combat type of stance. There was a moment when neither moved. But when the movement came, it was sudden. As Séamus lunged at the man, thirsty for blood and lots of it, the man came at Séamus. His dagger just grazed the man's upper arm, as the man winded Séamus with a quick shot to the gut.  
  
Séamus fell like a sack of potatoes and hit the ground hard. However, he was smart enough to move his hand with the dagger out of his way as he fell, unfortunately, his wrist broke with a echoing repulsive sort of crack.   
  
The man the caused Séamus' fall, strutted over, ready to deliver the next blow, however, the young man was fast and switch hands, so that his dagger was now in his right. He thrust his dagger upward, catching the man in the upper thigh. Séamus smirked sadistically. He then pulled his dagger downward as blood splattered on his face. The man fell next to Séamus, as he rose to his feet.   
  
"Never mess with the best!" Séamus bragged in Gaelic, as he smirked, taking a sadistic and malicious pleasure in watching the man bleed to death. After a moment, he walked back to his friend, his right hand hanging limply from the rest of his arm. As he walked back over, he replaced his dagger back in the sheath.  
  
"Jackass, ya gonna get that wrist taken care of?" Brennan asked, trying to be concerned, but nonetheless wasn't. He still spoke in his first language.  
  
"Nah, I'd rather just let it be asshole." Séamus replied off-handily.  
  
Brennan looked a tad grossed. "It's fuckin' repulsive!"  
  
Séamus, being immature raised his hand and dangled his severed limp in front of Brennan's face.  
  
"Stop bein' so bloody damned immature and let's move it before the Brits get 'ere!" Brennan exclaimed, starting to leave the scene.  
  
"No, I like nauseating you. And good idea mate, let's split!"

"Right behind ya!"

At that particular moment, Séamus stopped dead in his tracks; something felt off, dreadfully off. He prayed he be not one of those horrid illusions that claimed his mind so often or those revolting sensual feelings he had lance his form for no reason. He loathed the feel of these sensations; they felt dirty, almost sinful. Yet, strangely, a part of him welcomed it with an open heart, embracing it, trying to remember what it was.

Falling against a pillar near the dockyard, he wrapped his arms around himself. 'Oh Lord, please, not again! Don't make me feel this! Don't make me see this illusion! Why me, why? Lord answer me! Pray tell, answer!! I don't need to not know!'

He shivered in fear. 'Why do I keep hearing sounds of a haunting melody…of a flute, which seem to have a hypnotic rhythm. And…this person, I call "Aniki", why does its presence see so strong, so overwhelming all of a sudden…'

Brennan brushed his obtrusive longish red hair from his face, his greenish-brown eyes studying his friend for a minute. He remembered how his friend was frequently plagued by these strange episodes of uncertainty. His friend explained it to be illusions of the mind, a temptation send by Lucifer.

Sighing, he folded his arms. There was nothing he could say at this time, it was best just to let it pass. He wanted to say something, but his friend acted much too strange. 

'It's more than an illusion, it's probably reality and we have yet to see it come to life.' Brennan reasoned, remembering his own strange memory flashes. He had more willingly accepted what he dreamt that Séamus had been. Brennan had his own memory flashes, but because of his modest zealous ways, he was more willingly to embrace what was the past. 

He didn't bother asking, he knew it was memory restoration, but he didn't want to ask what of. He knew it was linked to his own past, but how, hasn't sure thereof. The face of his friend and the mannerisms were vaguely similar to that of another person in another time that he had known. Yet, he could be quite sure if it was so.

Thus, patiently he waited, he didn't know what else he could do, as this left him virtually helpless, without solution. He could only wait for it to pass. He hardly remembered any such incidents like this involving himself. He had his dreams, but this, this he never experienced.

'I know I might have seen my friend in my past life, but who was he?' Brennan wondered. Before this, he hadn't quite thought much on the topic, but now, it was starting to catch his intrigue. He longed to know.

'I know I was someone called: "Tasuki", and on occasion, "Genrou" and "Shun'u". It seems linked to something called Suzaku, but how does that link me to him? Why do I feel like we've known each other before?…'


	4. A Chance Meeting

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 2**

Slumped against the table his fork in hand, as he grudgingly ate the stuff they dare called a meal at the mess hall for ground troops and other flunkies, Jeremiah sighed. His wrist hurt like hell, and the strange part was, he had been off duty for the most part, mainly on-call in case the other brigades needed extra men, or if something came up and he had to spring into action without question. Aside from that, he had done nothing strenuous.

With a sprained wrist, he had got seventy-two hour dismissal. During that time he was off-duty and didn't have to answer to the call to duty, as he was considered injured, but not enough for a discharge. The medical officer, had said it was nothing more than a minor sprain and wrote him a report to hand to his superior officer, Captain Andreas. The man wasn't particularly thrilled at the thought, nor did he welcome the sudden loss of one of his men for something he considered so frivolous.

Poking at his now lukewarm meal, Jeremiah lamented softly, contemplating his sanity. He had been granted permission to leave the base and was granted civilian leave but instead, here he was, eating in the mess hall, trying to stomach what the army called food. Food? He wouldn't have served it to his worst enemy.

'Why _am_ I staying?' Jeremiah pushed the dish away, stood up from his chair and curtly left the mess hall, not bothering to answer any of his peer's inquiries as to where he was headed. 

Once changed, in more his more comfortable, faded denim overalls, a button up and a loose fitting cotton jacket with the same boots on his feet, he headed out, intent on finding a "speak easy". He had learnt in his first few days on duty in Dublin that this place was anything but dry. 

Brushing himself off, he picked up the same hat he wore when off base, placing it on over his relatively short, but not so-short sandy brown hair. With the peek facing backward, he pulled the back down a bit before opening the door to the barracks and scurrying off in search of one of the local pubs.

Making his way through the streets, he attempted blend in, but it was difficult, after all, he was a foreigner and it wasn't easy fitting in. For the while, he seemed like a local, no one really paid any mind to him, just basically ignored him, which was fine by him, less attention to divert from himself.

Passing through the doors of the tavern, he paused. It was smoky and extremely crowded. He wondered if this was normal, or if there was some sort of celebration. Shrugging it off, he strolled up to the bar counter, leaning on it. Waving to the bartender, he requested, when the man came over, "innkeeper, a half-pint of your domestic beer."

The bartender nodded; while two youths offset on his right, each sipping from a pint of their own liquor snickered. The first of the two, holding the glass in his left hand, a rolled up smoke in his left, smirked at the foreigner. His features, shadowed by the dim lighting of the room and the thick smoke.

"Hey mate, you're no doubt a foreigner. Ordering merely half a pint? You're American, 'cause ya' going with the kiddie stuff. Not man enough to down a pint of triple X rye?!" The first snidely quipped, bringing the smoke to his lips and inhaling slowly.

"It shouldn't matter what makes a guy a man. I've never gone to a speak easy. This stuff is new to me, so give me a break." Jeremiah retorted sharply, casting death glare at the youth that fired that insult at him. Taking the half-pint, he brought the golden liquid to his lips. Letting it pass over, he savoured the taste.

Making a mistake, he drank too much in the first sip and started to have a coughing fit. He had choked, after some went down his windpipe. Placing the glass down, he brought his hand to his throat, coughing. After a minute, he cleared his throat, blinking, trying to refocus. 

Then, with a nasty glare, he sharply looked up at the young man. "You say nothing! I've never drunk this stuff before. We're dry where I'm from."

"Figured as much from the way you ordered, mate." The young man replied, reaching for Jeremiah's glass. Sniffing the contents, he pushed the half-pint back Jeremiah's way. "That's a good domestic ale you got there, mate. Guinness. Fine stuff, used to drink it as a lad. Out grew it in my teens."

"I-I'm not even going to ask." Jeremiah held up his hands, not wanting to know. It was strange coming in here. At the bars he had heard of back home, there was never anyone like this. They all were mild drinkers, mostly rebellious teens who drank moderate stuff, stuff that didn't burn the mouth or throat; it was sweet liquid.

"Hn, like I really give a damn if you ask." The young man shrugged coolly. After noticing his redhead friend had left to head off to the back, where there was a small brawl brewing between a couple of the soused patrons. Turning back to the foreigner, he then probed. "Pray tell, what's your handle, mate?"

Jeremiah blinked blankly for a minute, before he clicked in. Reflexively he held out his right hand. "Me? Jeremiah Dallas. You'd be…"

"Séamus Kennedy." Séamus paused after taking the young man's hand. Letting it go, he thoughtfully studied Jeremiah. "Say, you from the San Francisco bay area?!" He sounded hesitant in his question.

Jeremiah's jaw just about hit the floor at the accuracy of the young man's statement. This was impossible. The United States was extensive. Of all the places to guess, this Séamus had been entirely, without a flaw, accurate. "How…how did you know?" 

"You said your surname was Dallas, did you not?!"

"I did."

"I happen to have family in that area. My mother's maiden name was Dallas."

"Really?"

"Yes. She was born and raised in that area. She met my father in the Great War. He went back to America with her. She died in '23…"

"In the great 'quake?!"

"On the money."

"If your mother was American, and you were born there, why didn't your father stay?"

"He had no one to stay with, and the place he and my mother had established was destroyed, and the family broken."

"Broken?"

"Indeed. All I know is I was born with a twin and lost them in the same year."

Jeremiah remained silent. There was nothing quite suitable to say at this time. It was certainly awkward. This young man he just met had all but told him his life story in a few short questions. He, Second Class Private Jeremiah Dallas had only given his name and location. He felt a burdening obligation to give his short story, skipping on the grim details.

"I…I never knew my folks, I was orphaned at a young age and raised by the state. They found me in the arms of a woman who wasn't my mother. I was given to the state. I didn't like life there… - I ran away…enlisted in the army."

He paused, taking a short sip. "Yes, I'll admit I was born in the same year as you. I know I enlisted under age, but the military doesn't know that. If they did, I'd get shipped back. This is the nicest life I've known. Been with it since I was barely sixteen."

"So, you're here with the allies to fight for freedom?! If I were you, I'd skip helping the mother fucking Brits, who don't give a bloody damn about anyone but their purty arses." Séamus downed half his glass before slamming it down on the counter. He turned to gaze piercingly at Jeremiah. "You think it's going to be a picnic out there, that because you're new that you can just go in and bulldoze the bloody hell out of them damned Nationalists. I've seen men after being there, I'll tell you mate, it ain't a purty sight."

"What? What happened to them?" Jeremiah's hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips, passing the sweet tasting liquid over his lips, apprehension coursing his body as he drank in the words of Séamus. Though he could tell the young man wasn't in anyway an active member of the army, the youth seemed to have a certain level of wisdom to his words and air. 

Placing his glass back down, he turned in his chair. "Who did you hear this from?"

"Some of this is from the Great War. My daddy is a surviving veteran of the trenches. He once told me men would sooner take his own lives than go out into what was branded 'no man's land'. That's the place between the Allied front lines and the Axis front lines. He now trains troops. He's had men come back, scared shitless for their own bloody lives. They fear sleep and they fear that the Nationalists will invade Ireland." Séamus explained, motioning for the innkeeper to refill his pint.

While he waited for it, he turned to Jeremiah, "yet, I have no first hand experience. In truth, I don't want to fight there, I get enough fucking bullshit to 'fend off here with the bloody Protestants barking up my damned tree, I don't need no fucking goddamned bloody Nationalists blowing my ass up."

"Y-you…what do you do?" Jeremiah asked hesitantly, taking a small sip from his half-pint of Guinness. He was frightened yet intrigued by what this young man was telling him. All his life he had been sheltered at the orphanage for boys in San Francisco. When he had enlisted in the army, his whole world changed, he began to see places he never dreamed of before in his entire life. Now he was about to enter the war that would change the future of mankind; for better and for worse. 

"I'm an assassin for the IRA. I execute Protestants for a living. Pays enough to get by in life." Séamus replied tipping his glass in Jeremiah's direction. "Pays for a nice shoebox flat, gets a week of feed and a block of ice a day for the box."

Swallowing reflexively; suddenly feeling unnerved around Séamus, Jeremiah lifted his glass to his lips, taking a long swig of the golden liquor. Placing the glass down, he stood up. "Uh, nice meeting you…"

"Leaving so soon, mate?! The night's young, or they need you back at the barracks for curfew?!" Séamus queried calmly, sipping from the glass he held in his left hand. He no longer held a fag in the right. He rested his injure hand over his lap.

Jeremiah didn't say anything, just downed the last of the contents. "Uh, early morning training and it's mighty brutal. Never trained after getting a moonshine from a speak easy."

Séamus smartly replied, "eh? Care to translate that into English, Jeremiah, I didn't think I caught what the bloody hell ya just said."

"There…there aren't any "speak easy" here? I thought moonshine was common here." The private replied, with a meek shrugged and a nervous chuckle.

"We ain't that bloody fucking backwards. I know what the hell moonshine is, just ain't never heard of a 'speak easy'." Séamus retorted sharply, his accent highlighted by his mild anger. He slammed his fists down on the bar counter, shaking the area, the contents of his pint spilling onto the table.

Jeremiah turned back, stopping dead in his tracks. He now had somewhat of a better view of the young man he had just been speaking with. The young man was surprisingly shorter than he had anticipated. From the mere sound of Séamus' voice, Jeremiah would have thought this young man was near a good solid six feet in height, and not anywhere close to his height of nothing more than five foot six. Despite this, he still failed to have a great view of the young man.

Swallowing, he then replied, "I-I'm sorry, didn't mean to offend you…or anything like that." He held his hands up, indicating his regret. It was a sign that he hoped Séamus would get; hoped the youth wouldn't pull a bar out and bash his head on.

"You didn't just caught me off guard with your callous remark, mate." Séamus shrugged, wandering over, standing directly face to face with Jeremiah. Standing face to face with the young man, he noted for the first time, his features; how identical they looked! It was like looking into a mirror.

"Sweet Mother of Jesus…~" Séamus whispered hoarsely, taking a step back, crossing himself. This was one of the miraculous and yet, strangest, eeriest things he had ever experienced. He had remembered his father one vaguely mentioning the existence of another son, but he brushed it off; but now it was too true.

Jeremiah had barely noticed because he had some light in his face. Thus, when the other young man reacted, he was confused, but intrigued. He took a step forward. "Oi, man, what's wrong? Is it something about my cologne, what is it?"

"You…you're identical to me…" Was all Séamus could utter, as he stared in disbelief at the young man who he believed to be his brother. No, scratch that, his twin brother.


	5. Revelations of a Hidden Past

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 3**

A young lady with shoulder length blond hair that hung freely faced her parents. Her father had been over seas acquiring new material, as he was a renowned translator in the Tokyo area. He bore the bad news that he had told the young lady's mother. He had been deported quickly and swiftly from the western world at the dawn of the attacks on Pearl Harbour, now, they lived in fear of their lives.

"The Americans have started attacks against us. To remain here, that is not an option. Our emperor had sent a warning for all people to brace themselves for an attack, as the Americans have declared war against us and our allies." Her father explained, his expression grimly sombre.

"Demo, 'tousan! What's going to happen?" The young woman demanded in a panic, her cerulean blue eyes flaring with anxiety. She knew her best friend had already been taken to the countryside. She was now alone in the city, no one to seek comfort with. Her best friend had that young man whom she had fallen in love with in the Shijin Tenchisho world; she had only negative memories and a longing in her heart for the boy that had thrown himself at her feet.

She raised a hand to cover where her heart was beating. She heard it resounding in her ears. Her hand clutched the material of her kimono. She felt scared. She had been a fond advocate of Japan's imperialistic and militaristic stance. She found it wonderful that the empire was expanding, yet now, she was fearful of it because the empire had awakened a sleeping giant.

'Onegai, Suboshi…where are you?' A tear slid from her left eye, as she recalled how her best friend had her own protector whom was given a second chance. Her heart felt heavy with jealousy. 'Miaka, you have Tamahome, I have no one…'

~~~~

"You…you're identical to me…" was all Séamus could utter, as he stared in disbelief at the young man who he believed to be his brother. No, scratch that, his twin brother.

Jeremiah blinked, it was too perplexing to disgust. He shook his head. There was no way that this was possible. Family, that was possible, but a twin?! That was ludicrous. It was almost laughable, yet, he didn't find himself throwing his head back, casting off a mocking laugh at this young man's claims. It almost seemed to put the missing pieces of the puzzle together. The tingling connection he felt, the alluring pull that brought him to this very pub. It all seemed too linked. 

Stepping forward, he touched a hand to Séamus' face. He could see some resemblance between them, but there still wasn't enough light in his favour. He felt the connection; that made up for the lack of light that displayed the features and appearance of the young man in a clear way.

"Uh… Séamus, this is going to sound…weird, but…"

"_Seadh_, mate?!"

"What the hell did you just say?"

"Aye, mate."

Jeremiah once more shook his head; Séamus was too strange, yet too intriguing in an alluring way. He replied, "I was wondering if… - I can't see you clearly and I want to believe what you're telling me. I need to see you outside without the dimness of this place."

Séamus shrugged. "Guess I agree to that." He dropped a couple of coins on the counter. "Couple of shillings covers the tab. Don't worry 'bout yours, I doubt you have the right coinage anyway."

The second class private blinked, stunned. This total stranger, who was mostly like a cousin, maybe a brother, or even more a twin, had just calmly picked up the cost by dropping a couple of coins on the counter, telling him to forget about it. No really had done it before. After all, there was no such thing as charity as an orphan, as far as he knew, there was only pity and an off chance that someone might adopt you. He had grown hardened towards humanity in general. After all, everyone he had known and see had been self-serving bastards.

Unable to respond, Jeremiah meekly cast a glance at the ground. "I…thank you. I don't know how to react, but thank you, I guess."

"What's wrong?" Séamus seemed to immediately sense something off in the other young man. He didn't know quite why, he just did. Lamenting, he moved to place a hand on Jeremiah's shoulder, indicating that he too was ready to leave.

Once out the door of the tavern, Séamus pushed the one who did look quiet like him, gently, into the light of a flickering street lamp. Wandering over, he paused, less than a foot from where Jeremiah stood, even more shocked that before. It was now his turn to utter the same words that had been earlier stated by the one so identical to him. "You….you're identical to me! I…I thought you were bluffing, or at that, maybe just seeing things. After all, the lighting in the speak easy wasn't so great."

  
"Jeremiah, do me a favour and shut-up, you're babbling near incoherently." Séamus quipped, a tad on the impatient side. Yet, his expression didn't convey the same thing. He wore something of a warm smile. He didn't quite realise that he was, it just happened. 

The entity within him stirred eagerly.

"Aniki…" The name came on reflex. Immediately, Séamus' hand flew up, covering his mouth. He hadn't realised that he had said it. Now it was in the open and there was sweet all he could do except wait for the reaction of Jeremiah, who would surely now think less of him. He quickly glanced away. "Don't pay any mind to me mate, I really don't know what I'm saying. My mouth didn't consult my brain before I spoke."

'Aniki. That's what he just said. It's one of the names I hear in my dreams, and in a voice that sounds remarkably like his!' Jeremiah stared in awe at the one identical to him. It was terrifying reassuring that someone had known this. It relieved something from his soul. 

Bringing his hand to Séamus' face, he forced the young man to look at him. "I'm not going to forget it, not this time. Furthermore, you can help me. If what you said is linked to what I hope you're going to be saying, then you don't have to question if its reality or not."

"You think it might be more than delusions?!" Séamus paused thoughtfully. He then placed both hands on Jeremiah's shoulders. "You're having strange dreams as well, of a place that seems like Ancient China?! With something that seems more fantasy than reality?"

"Y-yes! Yes, that's exactly it!" Jeremiah answered happily, thankful that someone had finally been able to be on the same level of him. It soothed him; helped reassured him that he wasn't at all losing his mind. He all but embraced the one that could without a question be his brother; and more than that, a brother he had been with in a previous life. Maybe this was a second chance to make up for not protecting him.

"You don't think…" Séamus began. This was eerie, but a wonderful eerie. "That…the dreams we have are real and that…this is a second chance?"

"You think that as well?!" Jeremiah was overwhelmed with joyous happiness. He had never truly felt this. He had remained cut-off from society; he had even distanced himself from the other society rejects. He had refused to let himself feel anything. But this was different. The young man that he spoke to was family, or so seemed. After all, he had the name that was easily noted and he did look strikingly identical to this young man. Maybe something was going to change. 

His hand reflexively touched a thin scar on his left wrist. He had tried to escape another way, but they had stopped him. It had been in vain. But they hadn't been able to stop him from letting himself die through emotional pain. Slowly he had attempted to end his life like that; even in the army he had been like that. He really didn't care about anything. He had nothing to care about. His whole life had been worthless.

Moving forward, Jeremiah stared hard into Séamus' eyes. He felt a connection with this youth. Though he had just met, the bond he felt was undeniable. He sighed softly. "You're Catholic, you believe in miracles, right?"

"That's right." 

"Then do you believe that this meeting is by divine intervention?"

"Could be, I don't know. Maybe it was pure coincidence and good timing, mate. There's no knowing the will of the divine. It acts in mysterious ways unknown to man."

Jeremiah nodded mutely. He didn't know how to react. This stranger that seemed to be no doubt real family was being so openly kind to him. Maybe he had just had a narrow view on the world because he had been an orphan and had saw only the negative side of the Great Depression that plagued the United States of America. This stranger; his twin, also seemed understanding, with a human side. 

"I agree with you, it's quite possible. There is no way to prove that the divine did or didn't interfere. Who are we to question what their will is."

Unconsciously, Séamus placed an arm around Jeremiah's shoulders. "If you don't have to head back to the base, stay 'round a while. You can come to my flat. I feel like a fool having to talk to you out here. My place ain't too far off this road."

Smiling wanly, Jeremiah felt somewhat wanted. This was nice; reassuring. It gave him a sense of what he had been taught. The orphanage he had been at, was operated under the authority of the Catholic Church. The Priests who served as the children's guardians preached sermons of how the good Christian was respectful of his fellowman and should treat him as he himself wished to be treated. "Do unto others what thou does unto thy self", was what he had been taught, yet, he had never practised it. Now he was being victim of that very practice. This young man, who he felt he should be calling brother, was treating him kindly, without question. 

'So, that's what they had meant. Maybe I just hadn't been meant for that place. People are too cold and closed. Folks here are easier going, considering the war and all.' He cast a glance at Séamus. He nodded. "I could spare a day or so, might as well take a look around town."

"Sounds fine mate. You should really try n' get yourself put on duty here, that way you don't have to get your damned arse blown off by them goddamn bloody Nationalists who think they are so great. They deserve the Brits." Séamus callously remarked, as he escorted the one he truly believed was not only his twin in this life, but from before, to a place he rented.

Jeremiah considered thoroughly what was being proposed to him. He could sense an underlying concern coming from the other young man. It was so soothing. It calmed him, letting him break down his hard bitter shield he had encased himself in since he was a child. He sighed softly, touching his hand to the hand Séamus had on his shoulder.

He halted briefly. Taking Séamus' arm from around his shoulder, he held the young man's injured, bandaged wrist in hand. Gingerly running his fingers over the wrist and hand, Jeremiah pressed, "how did you hurt your wrist?"

"Broke it in a fight when the bastard tried to do me in. Broke it breaking m'fall." Séamus shrugged evasively. "Nothing really. Better than getting a knife wound in the chest or finding yourself staring up the chamber of a calibre."

Jeremiah all but fainted. This guy acted like facing a gun was nothing; like just taking a walk in the park! He whimpered softly and backed away. "Eh… Séamus, a-are you feeling all right?! You're not mad or anything?!"

"It's all right, Jeremiah. It's normal here, ever since before we were borne. It's just intense fighting; occurs randomly. If you live in fear of it, it'll kill you, you have to take it in stride." Séamus explained. "And if I were mad, I'd be mad as a hatter."

"Uh, interesting imagery." Jeremiah remarked, glancing away. He didn't know quite what to make of what had just been said. He wondered if he had stepped into something of an insane asylum in the form of a country. People seemed very nice and kind here and perhaps a few screws loose.

"'Tis so I imagine it must be! Imagery as in figurative or literal…"

"And what have you been eating? You're near stark raving mad!'

"Pray tell why mate."

"Because you're too damned perky and not at all bitter. You take life in stride, even when it bites you on the ass. Even when you get hurt, it's no biggie. How can people be kind; so willing to be nice? You live in a damned war zone and you act like it's peace time!!"

"Innit…is there something wrong with perky?!" Séamus pressed, stepping up, coming nose to nose with Jeremiah. "You have been sheltered, mate. You're too bitter, it ain't healthy for you."

Jeremiah took a step back, he then signed in resignation. "You're right. I'm not used to it, forgive me."

"It's fine, no need for forgiveness, mate, you done no wrong." Séamus assured the young man he presumed and accepted as his brother. He did so willing. There was no two ways about it. Jeremiah looked like him, bore their mother's name. This, he accepted. 

The second class private's jaw fell open mildly. "You…what?! I bark at you and you embrace my remarks…" Tears stung Jeremiah's eyes, he was lost for words to express his feelings to this young man. "I…thank you."

"There's no thanks with brothers. It's all mutual." Séamus replied off-handily. "You are my brother, or so I believe you are." He held up his hand, the palm facing Jeremiah. "You right palm has a scar, right?"

"But…how…" Jeremiah stopped short of asked, as he studied Séamus' left palm. The scar this young man had matched his, giving a clear indication that they were indeed brothers, but more than that, twins. 

Smiling, he pressed the palm of his hand against the other young man's. "It matches."

"It does." Séamus nodded solemnly.


	6. A New Day Old Rivalries

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 4**

Deep within the area of France, circa Dunkirk, claimed and conquered by Germany, a panzer division, had come to rest after driving the French and British troops into the tiny corner of the beach at Dunkirk. They intended to remain for a long while, which they had. They had been replaced recently with a faction of the air force that launched nightly air raids on London. These troops also guarded the front from any invasion that might be launched by the ambitious British, French, Canadian and/or American soldiers, who would dare to try and reclaim this land.

One of the posts that this particular Panzer division claimed had a small hospital that had served the French army. It had been converted into a depot for German supplies, as well as a hospital for their troops from any brigade or infantry faction that would traverse the area on patrol.

The medical staff was composed of mostly females who had joined the army as medical officers, ready to serve the French army and its allies. Now, they had their position converted for the sole purpose of the Nationalists who they felt, felt the urge to throw their weight around. A scant few had formed a group: _La Résistance_. They had been encouraged and led by a strikingly gorgeous young woman.

She had a certain air to her that gave her unmatched elegance. She didn't even try, for it came naturally to her. Her posture was impeccable. She had deep, thoughtful grey eyes, with complimenting streaming, waist length burgundy hair that she kept tied in a traditional French braid. She had a few loose strands that framed her face. She was remarkably taller than the others she worked with, yet were, she didn't seemed to stand out because of her unique, unmatched magnificence. 

On base she wore her military uniform. It was a knee length skirt with a proper matching jacket, similar to that of the ceremonial wear of the male. She too had her nameplate on her uniform, as well as her rank. She was an officer; a Major, as she joined up before the start of the war because she wanted to go into medicine and this was the only way that she could.

Fingering her nameplate as she adjusted her uniform, straightening it out, she fingered the tag that had her last name. Written out with correct accents and everything, it read: Beauregard. She sighed; how she missed her family. They were back in the Rhine Land, which was the first place annexed by Germany, she was in the Dunkirk prefecture. 

She sighed and moved to where the window was. Pressing her palm against it, she lamented, thinking about how this great place for growth had become her prison in a few short years. She then pressed her forehead against it.

'My saviour, Nakago, where are you? You're out there, somewhere, but where? I need you to save me like you did before, I need to see you're beautiful angelic face, your deep thoughtful eyes. I need to hear your reassuring voice. I know you never said you loved me, but I felt it in how you held me when I did wrong. You never punished me for failure like you did with all the other Seiryuu Seishi…'

"_Je vous aime... comme avant, comme maintenant et pour toujours_." She uttered, her voice no louder than a wistful whisper.

* "I love you…like before, like now and for always."

"_Aimée, que rêvez-vous environ_?" One of the other young women asked, wandering by. She had noticed her colleague standing at the window, looking out into the dark of the starless sky, as she did every night before they retired.

* "Aimée, what are you dreaming about?" 

"_Je rêve de la liberté_…" Aimée Beauregard replied with a gentle sigh. Her hands tugged at the hem of her skirt, as she turned from the window. She cast a wane smile as she gazed at her friend. "It's nothing, no need to worry, _mon_ _ami_." 

* "I dream of freedom…." - "…my friend."

"If you say so." The young woman shrugged, still very concerned. Ever since the Germans had taken over, Aimée seemed more distant than before. She appeared even more wistful; she had become something of a dreamer in her off time. 

Casting one more concerned cursory look over, she departed the area for the barracks at the hospital/base. She joined the other young and middle-aged women that worked as field nurses, serving the French Armed Forces, the Navy and Air Force. They less than willingly served the German Armed Forces, the _Heer_. Namely, it served the _Luftwaffe_ (German Air Force) and the _Kriegsmarine_ (German Navy) also used this base for refuelling and medical needs and supplies.

When _La Résistance _was formed under the guidance of Aimée Beauregard in response to the German occupation she and her female colleagues' band together. She had heard legends of other factions like this and hoped that she and her colleagues could gain freedom from the Germans by holding their own resistance. They worked strategically to set up radio links to Britain and report back in. They went underground for these activities to avoid the long reaching arm of the Gestapo. As a further act of rebellion, they saw to that the medical supplies were often doctored so that the Reich soldiers wouldn't have state of the art medical supplies on field with them. It wasn't much, but it certainly would help the Allied Forces. If they could incapacitate the Axis in a subtle way, it would strengthen the Allies.

She touched the blade she kept under her uniform. She had gone another day without using it. She only contemplated her alternative method of escape when all hope began to diminish. But the last couple of weeks, ever since America declared war on Japan and Germany, she had kept away, in hope. She prayed every night for the silver lining in the black cloud that lurked in her future.

Clasping her hands, she bowed her head in a silent prayer to her God. She asked for peace and for her beloved blonde shogun to be guided by his light to this base. All she the hope she could ever need would come from seeing him; to see that he was now happy in this life. Even if he didn't need her, as she needed him.

~~~~

At the head of his infantry division, one of many that made up his regiment; the Lieutenant sighed, raising a hand to shield his eyes from the early morning sun. Slowly it crept over the horizon, lighting up the landscape of the area. He had his main infantry division with him in the relatively sizeable city of Caen, near the Sword' Beach. His regiment was also in charge of patrolling as far south as the Juno Beach vicinity. They hadn't had much in the way of fighting, since France fell so easily into their hands, maybe a little too easily some of the lower ranking officers of the Lieutenant's regiment had thought. They had also voiced this on several occasions.

He, Lieutenant Johann Van Eyke, led his regiment through the wild of France and through many small towns. The successful conquers had been small potatoes, but it had all added up in the end. He was now getting ready to move his troops out to the post out near Dunkirk. The divisions regularly rotated in order to keep the vanquished inline. A change meant that any resistance that was occurring would get broken down because the rebels would have to face new-armed guards.

Inhaling deeply, Lieutenant Van Eyke opened his eyes. His piercing golden eyes riveted to the horizon, watching the sun cast a shadow to the west as it came up over the eastern side of the plains. Each day meant another victory. It meant more than just life. This was existence, it was ruled by the rising and setting of the sun.

Pulling his silky greyish-black hair back from his eyes that fell about chin length he tucked it back under his hat and pushed his shades up the bridge of his nose. As he did so, his slender finger ran over bare, pale skin. This skin had once been tarnished by Kabuki make-up, giving this man an overly garish appearance. Now his beauty, despite his age, which was in the mid-twenties, was still very youthful.

Stretching back, he cackled softly. 'The next to fall - the British - shall fall just as easily as the French, Dutch, Polish and all others. They have no backbone, after all, the retreated so quickly, especially after the two repeated incidents of losses for them. They are truly pitiful.'

The ground shifted, as a soft blue light grazed the horizon. 'Be prepared for my awakening, as I shall be awakening soon. I'll find my shogun and we shall try and conquer together once more. We had Kutou within out clutches, now we have the world. I'll give it to you; I gave you my life before. I'll give you what it takes to win your respect and admiration, Nakago-sama.'

~~~~

Two blades shone beneath the rising sun of the early morning. They touched, lightly clicking together. Catching the light, the two swords burst into a fray of parries, thrusts, blocks and attacks. The skilled men behind them moved agilely on their feet, as they saw and responded to the moves that were initiated by his enemy.

In the early morning hours of dawn, the two captains let their fury loose as they battled out wills in a classic duel, using their swords. They had used the previous encounters as incentives to go forth with this sparring match. Yet, both knew it was more than that, there was blood for the victor and death for the defeated.

That remained concealed from the observers. Both infantry troops from the American and British Corps watched this unfolding duel in awe and fear. They didn't quite know what to make of it. All they knew was that two men that were supposed to be allies were landing strikes and attacks with swords. There seemed to be no reason; or so it was.

Perspiration dripped from the face of Captain Stonewall. His eyes flared hatefully as he faced Captain Andreas. He had no recollection of what had been meant by the words uttered the last night, yet he had some knowledge as to why they were fighting. He knew it spanned greatly beyond merely a rivalry. A past life enemy seemed about right. After all, that's what the motive for Captain JC Andreas came across as being.

Something sparked in the mind of the dark haired captain. As that did, a red aura forged around him. A sensual, tingling burning erupted on his neck, as the character of _sei_ flared to life. A certain glint returned to his eyes, as he scathingly growled, "you will not take me down, this time! I learnt from my mistake, Nakago!"

Captain Andreas smirked in satisfaction, "Konan-koku no Heika-sama has awakened to find himself once more facing the door of death in his prime."

There was more echoing sounds of metal clashing, as the two battled it out before a growing congregation of spectators. They paid no mind to it, for each had one goal, to disarm the other and be the victor. 

With each sword clash, the bright, stainless steel silver blades caught the brilliant light of the sun, sending light into the eyes of the patrons. The swords didn't fall from the hand of either duellist. The only thing that fell from both was the moisture that laden the body and face of each duellist, as each perspired from the heat of the moment and the increasing temperature of the morning,

A moment breaker was the whistle that shrieked from the General. He was very unimpressed by the misconduct of high-ranking officers in the time of war. The men were supposed to be allies, and here they were, duelling in a very childish manner. They even had the gall to do it on base. They failed to have enough common sense to take it off base and go elsewhere.

His stern eyes imploringly stared hard and long at both captains, who immediately snapped to attention, returning their swords to the sheaths attached to their belts. Once doing so, both saluted the general, not moving, for fear that either would get dishonourably discharged from the force and that would be an utter disgrace if it happened.

"Captain Stonewall, Captain Andreas, both of you in my office post haste!" The general barked his order out, as the two captains simultaneously replied with a positive response and quickly moved to his office without another word and without casting a death glance at the other.

The general removed his hat as he wandered away, brushing his fingers through his brush cut. His hair was a striking black and stood straight up despite being crushed by the weight of the cap he wore with his uniform. His eyes were narrow, but not from anger, just by genetics. His face was strong, his jaw long. His height was great, but not looming in a lanky form. He was built with strength. Though he looked like a giant, around women and children he was a gentleman. Near officers committing crimes of dreadful misconduct, he was a stern man that no one dared to trifle with.

Entering his oval office at the main building of the base, he travelled up a few flights of stairs, stopping at the desk outside his office where a meek young woman with large green eyes and auburn hair tied in a ponytail on her head sat. She appeared to be no more than twelve or thirteen, but intellectually she was above her years, so it made up for her shortcomings in her appearance. 

She gazed up at him warmly. "Trouble on the field, General Marshall?" She asked.

"Nothing more than a pitifully petty duel between Captain Stonewall and Captain Andreas, Miss Llwellyn." General Dwight Marshall replied stoically, as he paused. "When they come up, direct them right to my office."

"Yes sir." The young woman named Chelsea Llwellyn, scribbled down the information quickly before she turned back to her type writer and continued to write up what she had been handed by various commanding officers in the area. She did it with proficiency giving her a legacy in the area. She had also claimed a reputation for being the most superior in intelligence. She was often matched up against some of the senior officers when they gauged her smarts.

~~~~

Squinting at the light that invaded his senses, Jeremiah groaned. It was morning already, but it didn't feel quite the same. He was used to reveille to awaken him from his stupefied sleep. Waking up naturally was unheard of. Also, the touch, the gentle hand he felt on his face, he wasn't used to it.

Sighing softly, his opened his eyes. His deep blue eyes came to rest on Séamus, who knelt next to the couch, his hand on his face. He smiled warmly. "Your hair was in your face mate. So, you're up, want some tea with bang'rs and mash?"

Jeremiah arched an eyebrow. "Uh, what's that?" He asked groggily, still managing a wane smile, as he sat up. This was nice. He hadn't known family would be like this. Looking at Séamus brought a flood of memories from his past. 'Shun-chan.' 

His eyes teared up as he let the memories touch his mind. But, he didn't quite realise that he was until he felt his brother touch a hand to his face, brushing away the tears. He then touched his hand to his brother's, grasping it tightly, as though it was his only life preserver in the world.

"Shun-chan…" Jeremiah softly whispered, his other hand gingerly touching Séamus' face. 

The young man blinked, a little a taken back. Contrary, he reflexively replied, "hai, Aniki?"

"You really believe that we're not just who we are now, but that we were once two other beings entirely that lived in a place reminiscent of Ancient China." Jeremiah whispered, his face right in Séamus', as he spoke. His voice was soft; his eyes glinted mischievously. He chuckled mirthlessly; yet found himself stunned to hear the sound of his own laughter. It seemed foreign to him.

He grew serious. "Do you think we're any different than before, if this is a second chance we were given?"

"Surely we are because we weren't born knowing who we were before, so we had a chance to grow up and redeem ourselves for our past sins. We are different than before, after all, we weren't born knowing that we were warriors of the past, we were born knowing what we knew before we acquired memories of our past lives." Séamus explained, sitting next to Jeremiah, pulling him into an embrace.

Melting against his twin, Jeremiah sighed. It felt nice to be held by someone, even if it was his brother. The warm arms around him gave something to hide in, forget about the rest of the world and the evil that always seemed to prevail. He felt a tingling sensation course his body as he found the much needed solace he obtained from being near his twin. The sensation was similar to that of earlier ones, only stronger now.

'What **is** this? Why is it happening now? What does this mean?' Jeremiah shivered with fear. How he loathed this relishing, erotic sensual feelings that claimed his body without warning. His hand tightly clutched the fabric of his brother's shirt, as he tried to ward off these sinful feelings; these sensations that were too tempting.

In a small voice, he queried, "uh…did you ever feel strangely? You know, feel tingles in your body for no reason?"

"I try to forget that I do. It's revolting, but it keeps happening. There isn't anything I can do about it. If you get the same, just fall in stride, ride it out and it'll stop plaguing you, at least for a short while." Séamus offered, sounding unsure. 

"There isn't a way to stop this?!" Jeremiah shut his eyes, burying his face against the crook of Séamus' shoulder. "Does it make us bad if we feel this? Or…is this what it felt like in our other life…"

"No, it's just something we have no control over. Whether or not we felt it before is irrelevant, my brother." Séamus whispered, inhaling his twin's scent. He wanted to learn everything about his brother; memorise everything before it was too late. He wanted to pretend that he had known his brother all his life. It was a sad illusion, but it would give him some hope to cling to. 

His hand found Jeremiah's chin. Gently cupping it, he gazed into the deep blue eyes of his brother. They were mirrors of each other; both had pained happiness in their eyes. His other hand came to brush the loose strands of sandy brown hair from Jeremiah's face. As he did so, he didn't realise quite how close his face was to his twin's. Nor did he think about what went through his mind as he brushed his lips over Jeremiah's without any iota of a second thought.

The reaction of Jeremiah was anything but negative. It seemed as though the mouth that had cupped itself over his was the answer and solution to the forlorn tingles and sensations he felt in his body, calling out for a sedative. In further response, he brought his hand to touch Séamus' cheek. 

After a minute, each pulled back, slightly stunned. Neither seemed repulsed by what had just happened. Despite their blatant Catholic background and the sin that came with what they just did, they didn't show any remorse for it. They sat facing each other. They said nothing, as a wave of mutual understanding dawned on the pair.

Séamus stood up, stretching. He began to speak his reaction to what had happened, yet made no move to apologise for his actions. "Aniki…" His voice was barely a whisper. "I understand again. I understand why I felt those sinful sensations that I shouldn't have ever felt…"

Standing up, Jeremiah moved so he stood directly in front of the young man that he accepted to be his twin brother. He placed both hands on Séamus' face, gingerly brushing his thumbs over the young man's face. His voice was just a brushing hiss, as he replied, "maybe there is a reason that we do understand, Shun-chan. Maybe it has to do with what just happened. I remember having dreams of a boy identical to me that I grew up with in Ancient China that I had sinful, unbrotherly feelings for my twin. Maybe you had the same as well. It seems that if that was the case, it carried over into this life." 

"Aniki…do you think there is more to the memories that we get than we think? I keep seeing more and more. There is a girl, but I don't know what to make of her. She seems too detached. There was also other people…and one who forced the one that was my twin to go to a bad country while a threat for a war loomed…"

"I think we were warriors for a god and we had a girl that came from another world to summon our god. You're right, there was a war; I remember seeing two different countries and getting sent to the enemy for the sake of ours…"

"And…and now history's repeating itself again! You…you're going away. Again…it's for a war." Tears randomly fell from Séamus' eyes, as he pressed his forehead against Jeremiah's. "I have my brother back, now I have to stand losing him again." His choked out an insignificant sob.

"Shhh…it's okay, don't cry, brother. I'll try and see if I can avoid leaving. Even if it means being on duty here, I'll do it. This time I won't willingly leave you." Jeremiah breathed against his twin's mouth, his lips brushing over Séamus' as he spoke.

Mewing plaintively, Séamus sighed. For a strange reason, he had a vague recollection of feeling this in his past. He thought he might have had a relationship like this with his twin, as subtle as this, nothing voiced; all in actions. Yet, now he was unsure of that. He wasn't sure if this had happened or. If it had, was now completely irrelevant, and what mattered was now he did have his brother back.

Raising his hands, grasping his twin's face, he placed both hands on his brother's face. Lightly he pressed his mouth against Jeremiah's, savouring the salty sweet taste of his twin's lips against his. As he did, a tear slid down his face; as though he was missing something still…


	7. Written in the Stars

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 5**

Stretching back, Brennan sat contentedly on the low branch of a thick cedar tree in the local park, watching the locals wander around in the nearby bustling, lively market place, going about their daily business. Scornfully he snorted. They were so naïve. They hadn't a care in the world. Rationing hadn't been introduced into their world yet. They were still living comfortably as other Europeans struggled. 

He then smirked. He knew it wouldn't be long before these people learnt that life wasn't so beautiful. England was passing legislation to also hand out ration booklets in Scotland, Wales and Ireland in order to provide their army unit with more supplies. He didn't care what the supplies were as long as they didn't touch the arsenal and alcohol supply. If they did, then there'd be something to bellyache about. But until then, everything seemed relatively fine.

Cracking his knuckles, he placed his hands behind his head and shut his eyes. Concentrating he flared the character of _yoku_ on his arm to life. He smiled at it. It was beautiful, but he had no idea what it meant. He reckoned it might have a name that was linked to religion and beauty of life. That was his hope at least.

With it glowing resiliently on his forearm, he pulled out a small scrap piece of mental he had moulded into something of a fan. He had seen something like it in his dreams. He remembered that there was an incantation that went with it. _Leeka Shinen_. That had been the command to make the flames come out of the fan.

Holding it away from his body, his lips and voice formed the very words of the incantation that sparked the flames to shoot out from the metal. "Leeka Shinen!" 

He watched in awe. It was eerily beautiful. He could create fire from his metal with the utterance of two simple words. It was the best weapon he had. He had recently discovered how to use it, but had never put it in practice. He had to perfect the act of using it, which he had yet to do. That he could work on in time.

'So, this must be part of my powers from my past as "Tasuki". Interesting. I wonder if my speed was part of it or if it just comes naturally to me…' Brennan mused, twirling the scrap metal fan in his hand. He chuckled at the thought. It was very interesting. 

He then sighed loudly. Despite what he was learning about his past, the past few days had been dreary and so utterly boring. He hadn't seen hide or hair of Séamus. He had only heard from a few of his friends that the young man was showing another the ropes of the place. He had also heard rumours that the young man that his friend was playing host to was possibly his brother.

'This place is so damned bloody boring, I'm mad with boredom that I might just join the damned war against the assholes called the Nationalists. I need something to do, _anything_! This is just _so_ boring!' Brennan groaned. How he loathed this. He needed something to occupy his idle hands.

'I could go and try to find Séamus, or there's always that military chick who works for the general, I wonder when her break is?!' he mused, jumping down from his branch. 'That's what I'll do. I'll try and court the lass tonight. Best thing in a skirt these days!'

~~~~

_Dear diary,_

_I fear that the Germans will put us in the POW camps soon. They seem to get crueller and crueller by the day and there is no dawning hope. Everything is so black. I fear the worse is yet to come. Will I live to see another day or will I get thrown mercilessly into the legendary German POW camps that everyone speaks fearfully of? Oh Lord, I don't want to end up there. But we can't give into the Nazis. They already rule us with an iron fist. I fear they might be seeing through our façade. What happens next, I do not now. But what I do know is fear, for the new leader here is more fearsome than the others have been and I have a dreadful feeling he won't leave soon._

_I can only cling to a false hope and put my knife away for another day and forgo slitting my wrist and spilling my blood at the mercy of my forgiving Lord as a sacrifice to escape this hell. Maybe if I cling to the same fading hope I just might make. But I'm very unsure now as Anne has taken her life. _

_Many of us were sadden by her death, but the Lieutenant, I believe his name is Lieutenant Johann Van Eyke isn't the least bit remorseful at the thought of her death. Now, I just pray for her soul so she may enter heaven. I have a sinking feeling more of us will be entering heaven and their souls will have to be prayed for._

_It has now been over a year since we've been occupied…a year since I've thought of my way of escaping. For now, I can only dream a childish dream that my prince charming, my gallant knight in shining armour, will rescue me. _

Signed, 

Aimée Beauregard. 12/30/1941

~~~~

Chelsea lived in the main city, in the heart of it, in a prominent Catholic neighbourhood that was known to be pacifistic in its ways. That's why she had chosen it when she had moved from her quaint home in Wales. She liked it because it was in the city but it wasn't as ridden with violence as some of the other places in the main sector of the city.

She stood in front of a full-length mirror she had in her flat, examining her appearance. She snorted distastefully. She didn't know why a woman of her intellect needed to waste time on something as trivial as make-up and clothing when she could be getting her Bachelor of Arts from Oxford or another well-known prestigious university in the British Isles instead of wasting away in a meagre secretarial position. This was her reward for all her hard work instead of her much desired degree in Astronomy.

But then she remembered the reason for her rejection, she was female and her place was in the kitchen behind the stove, slaving away for some macho, sexist pig that didn't give a damn about her honour and saw her only as a breeder for his heir. She felt she wasn't one of those types of women. She felt her destiny carried for more her. She had been an active follower of the festering feminists' movements around the world as the rest of the world bargained for its rights from its ruling class government.

Heaving a resigned sigh, Chelsea pulled on a simple cotton dress, tying the belt at the waist and slipping on the shoes. She was dressing because she had a young man come to her and offer to court her. She had accepted as she felt a connection to him. Everything from his strange fanged smile to his stunningly striking red hair had caught her fancy.

Staring in the mirror that the young woman that stared back at her, she placed a hand on the mirror. 'Is this destiny? Some reason it seems to be. That's what it looked like last night in the stars.'

Chelsea paused in mid thought. 'The stars? Stars?!'

_The stars of the Suzaku Seishi are moving in an unlucky way_.

She blinked once more, tugging on the revealing neckline of her dress as she contemplated what just went through her mind. She had never quite understood her fascination with stars. But once she started her dreams, she found a connection. Her past. A past life in which she was a child genius.

She smiled wanly, remembering that. At least she had her one chance to be something and she had succeeded, though she had died. She had been nothing in terms of the best warrior, but she had been exceptionally smart and that had claimed her side victory.

'Chiriko…was that my name? And Brennan, he-he looks and seems to be a lot like….Tasuki-san! Brennan's Tasuki-san!!' She thought excitedly. She remembered how she had looked up to him and how gingerly he had held her other body as she died, saving the Suzaku Seishi from Miboshi.

She then touched her hand over the spot that she had stabbed herself in as Ou Doukun; Chiriko. She shut her eyes and sighed softly, a small stream of tears leaving her eyes. She hoped that Brennan would remember who she had been…

~~~~

The young woman, accompanied by her parents, stepped off the vessel that had departed from Tokyo and docked in Shanghai, China. They were taking a small break before departing again for the long trip that would take them around India, up through the Persian Gulf and into the Mediterranean Sea. The last leg of the journey would land in the British Isles where the group of asylum seekers would try and reach Dublin where the Axis was welcomed openly by the IRA.

She sighed, fingering the sash of her kimono. She didn't know how much more she could stand. She had been ushered from her homeland, shoved out to China; which reminded her far too much of Kutou. She shivered at the thought. She had bad memories of this place. Nothing good had been there, except the one youth, whom she hadn't expected to become her knight in shining armour.

She gazed up at the sky. She had done this many nights while in Kutou. She had grown accustomed to the constellations that littered the eastern quadrant of the sky. Her eyes pinpointed the one that mattered most. Raising her hand, she traced over the constellation for her protector.

'Suboshi. Will I ever see you again?' She placed her hand over her eyes as she brushed away free falling tears from her cerulean blue eyes. This was normal; she had melancholia ever since returning from the other world. Her friends had been very concerned for her, but she had blatantly insisted that she was fine.

Deep down inside, she wasn't. She was killing herself. She had no one to love her and that's all she ever wanted. The one person that had, she had pushed him away in the blindness of her pain in order to protect herself. Now she regretted it. She wished she hadn't. She needed him more than she had ever been willing to admit before.

Now she would admit. She had no shame in it. However, now was too late. It was too late for admissions of love, acceptance, or even a chance at friendship. She had foolishly thrown that out the window. She was now left with nothing but a false hope that he, like Tamahome, had been given a second chance, and was now somewhere in this god-awful, cursed world that hated her.

'Look at you, Yui! You're pitiful!' Hongou Yui chastised herself, as she stared into a curtained shop window. She wasn't with her parents at this time, she was alone, wandering the main streets. She had paused, staring in the window of a shop that had closed before sundown.

She stared at her face. She was a shadow of the bright-faced youth lady she had been. She was now nothing; withered to a zombie who went through the everyday routine of life without much thought to what she was doing. She had more than once since her return to her home, contemplated taking her life. She had come close to trying, but tossed the knife aside after her mother walked in on her.

Putting her hands in the front pocket of her kimono, she trudged on, wondering why she was living at all. She had no one living for her and she had no one to live for. She knew she needed a person otherwise she'd surely die before her time.


	8. A Dance With Jealously

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 6**

Raising a knuckle, Brennan went to knock on the door to Chelsea's flat then ran it over his slicked back hair. Then adjusting his tie, tied in the traditional Windsor knot, he sighed, waiting for his maiden to answer the door. 

He sighed. He didn't want to make a fool of himself while escorting her in a proper, courtly manner. Yet, he had no doubt that he would. After all, Chelsea was a genius, who got a job that no other women had a chance of getting, and he was just a menial labourer who worked in an ammunition factory because of his lame left knee. He had injured it years ago in an intense game of cricket.

Now because of it, the only fighting he could do was homeland. He'd participate in the uprisings by the Catholics and the IRA. Those were quite hunger satisfying for his desire to fight. He had been lucky enough to not having acquired any worse injuries than he already had.

Smiling as she opened the door, Brennan stepped forward, taking her hand in his. Kissing it, he gazed intently into her eyes. "Is the lass ready to go?"

Giggling sweetly, Chelsea blushed mildly at his move. "I am, sir." She replied, linking her arm through his. Although she didn't like the position of women in the world in general, she didn't mind being courted by a gentleman who knew who to treat a woman. This, she sensed this about Brennan.

"Innit, where shall we begin our evening, Miss Llwellyn?!" Brennan placed his hand over hers that was linked through his other arm. He walked down the steps that led to the flat she lived in.

"Isn't it true, pray tell, is there a local bar with an American swing band playing at?" Chelsea queried, watching the light of dusk bounce lightly off her escort's features. The hard light of dusk gave him a mysterious air to his attractiveness. She tried not to giggle vacuously as she gazed at him, love struck.

"Aw damnit, you really wanna do that?! I mean I think the film theatre is showin' something good. Maybe there's a quartet playing at the music hall. Or there is always just going out…" Brennan suggested with a small shrug.

"That sounds so dreadfully sleepy. Pray tell, why you hate going to bars where a band's playing, mate?! Isn't all music enlightening?!" Chelsea pressed. She didn't feel quite like participating in anything intellectually stimulating tonight. She wanted to try something below her, something other people considered fun. "Besides, I wanted to go dancing! That's why I wore my dancing shoes, mate!"

She held up a foot to prove a point. She pointed her foot out, as she balanced the bulk of her weight against Brennan's body. "See, I'm all ready for dancing the night away!"

"You sure?! I thought that…"

"Oh never mind what you thought. Quit being a stick-in-the-mud and let's have some fun!"

Brennan was surprised by the way she was acting. He had anticipated a night of theatre and a proper dinner. He had full-plans for trying to impress her with his intelligence, but it seemed she had other plans. He didn't like this too much. Being at a bar meant liquor and then surely he would make such a dupe of himself. Oh, how humiliated he would be. She wouldn't talk to him again.

He sighed. It wasn't that bad. There were worse fates than what he might encounter tonight. On the plus side, he was getting to court the fair Chelsea. She was beautiful, smart and individualistic. 

He paused, thinking about the connection he felt to her. It was strong. It wasn't a blood connection or anything like that, it felt as though it was linked through destiny. He cast a glance her way as this passed through his mind.

_Chiriko_.

The irony of that. He had once been Tasuki who looked up to Chiriko because of the lad's intelligence, but also admired the boy because the kid was something of a brother to him. Brennan recalled how devastated, in his previous life, when the young lad had died so nobly without question or self-pity. 

Pulling the young land in close, wrapping an arm around her waist, Brennan placed his chin on her head, inhaling her scent. How fresh she smelled. She wore such a subtle fragrance. Other women insisted on such over powering perfume, but Chelsea's was so beautiful because it didn't savagely invade his senses.

He didn't have to travel far with her before she pointed to the place she wanted to go to. He shuddered, it seemed too much like a place where his lunatic friends would congregate and loiter. The last thing he needed was to have to share his date with any of his friends. Most were courting other women, but there were the scant few that were still swinging bachelors and loved life that way.

Pushing the door open, like a gentleman, he felt it for her, letting her pass before he wandered in after her. He did the same at the table they acquired close to the bandstand. He pulled out the chair for her and pushed it in once she sat. He then took a seat across from her, making sure he had his back to the bar counter where his friends would surely gather if they were here.

Of all the nights for his friends to come here, this was one night he hoped they wouldn't.

Brennan sat facing the door, so he would be able to see if his friend did make a grand entrance after being drawn here like moths to a flame, because of the pounding swing music. So far he saw none; that was good.

But somehow it seemed he spoke too soon. He groaned at the sight of Séamus, who wandered in like he owned the damned place or something. Brennan hoped that his one friend was the only one from his gang coming. He then noticed the second one. He blinked. It was impossible. He couldn't believe those rumours about Séamus having a twin were true.

Turning to Chelsea, he stood up. "Lass, shall we find a better table?"

"Pray tell why, this table is quite fine, sir." She smiled and batted her eyelashes at him in a charming manner. "Besides, we're right near the dance floor, so it would be a waste to move. The band's right there and we can see them. So, why should we move? I would like justification to support why we should…"

"Because one of my friends just waltz in here." Brennan replied. He then wanted to take it back. It sounded so dumb; so ignorant. He bit his lip, waiting for her reply, whatever it was going to be.

He didn't have time to hear it before Séamus approached the table, bringing with him, Jeremiah. He stopped, leaning on the table. "Oi, ass, why didn't you mention something of a courting tonight?! Afraid we were gonna crash it or something?"

"Do me a favour and lose yourself, jackass." Brennan scathingly replied, his eyes flaring as he stared hard at his friend.

"No can do, I'm here and intend to stay. Jeremiah here is a fan of this swing music, so I thought we'd stop here 'cause he likes this stuff." Séamus replied, before turning to Chelsea. "Good evening, madam. You look quite well. Pray tell, lass, as my friend taken you to swing on the floor, or is he being a square?"

"He's insisting on waiting and I want to do something of merriment." Chelsea replied, gazing hopefully at the new comer. She held her hand up to him. "You dance, right?"

"Oh, is that an invitation to dance, because I'll certainly be happy to take you up on it. If not, then, may I have this dance, my lady?" Séamus replied, giving a short bow to her. It erupted a fit of short giggles from her.

"Why thank you, I'd be delighted!" She exclaimed, accepting his help, as she rose from the chair. She then, in her exuberance, dragged him out to the floor before Brennan could even utter a word of protest to her actions.

Grasping his hands as they arrived on the crowded floor, she asked loudly. "Pray tell mate, what's your moniker?"

"Me name be Séamus Kennedy." He replied, taking her hands to lead her in the dance. "And fair maiden, what be your handle?"

"Chelsea Llwellyn."

"Beautiful name for a lovely lass."

Back at the stall, Brennan sat, grousing bitterly about how it was unfair that he was courting Chelsea and now his friend got the lass. He ignored Jeremiah who had now taken a seat on the table and calmly ordered a Guinness like a veteran. 

Holding the half-pint in hand, he turned to the redhead. "You should know how to treat a lady. You don't make her beg for a dance."

Brennan cast a withering glance at the newcomer. "No one asked you."

"Sure no one did, but your bellyaching sure as hell did." Jeremiah countered quickly, taking a sip from his order. He placed the glass back down, his hand still holding it. "And if I were you, I'd get my ass in gear. My brother's a quick worker."

He gestured to the floor where Chelsea and Séamus were acting like old time buddies' moving in sync with each other moved. The pair seemed made for each other; they matched nicely.

"That should be you, but looks like my brother's claimed your dame." Jeremiah snickered at his overly inane pun. He grinned widely as he did.

"Look, just shove it where the bloody damn sun don't shine. I really don't give a flying fuck what you think, mate." Brennan death glared the mirror double of Séamus. This young man was grating his nerves, but for reasons that were worthless. He trailed off, muttering incoherent nonsense.

It was easy for the second class private to ignore this guy. He had learned long ago how to tune out people that he hated, or thought very little thereof. This was no exception. He couldn't phantom why his twin would be a friend with someone that was just so stupid. It was implausible. He saw his brother as an intelligent young man who knew when life did and didn't come to bite you in the ass.

He admired that in the brother he had only known a very short while. It was nice. He couldn't find another word for it at this time. In time he would learn what it meant in a more profound, deep manner. For now, he was satisfied with the surface scratching he had done in his short time since moving into his twin's flat. 

He knew he was only sharing the place with his brother for a very short while because he did have his call of duty that would take him to the front lines. The time for freedom he had before then, he had learned to cherish it. His brother had taught him that. He had continued to listen to what he was told. Despite the grotesque nature of the tales he heard, he was still half-heartedly ready to set out for the western front and join the allies.

His brother had very bluntly made it clear that he wanted Jeremiah to remain in Ireland and not head over to mainland Europe in order to fight in the war against those bloody Nationalists. Contrary, Jeremiah had objected, saying it was necessary. He continually reinforced his desire to protect his brother. That desire and the statements were repeatedly countered. Séamus said it would be in vain that many men don't come back and that it would only drive them apart.

In the end, Jeremiah had relented and explained he would talk to his superior officer and see about not having to go the English Channel. This had sedated his brother for the time being.

_2 hours later_…

Sighing, Jeremiah sat back in his chair, watching his brother move in time with Chelsea. He felt a short pang of envy. He knew he shouldn't feel it, but he did as he watched his brother move smoothly, holding the smaller form of Chelsea in his hands. Somehow he wished it were he and his twin. His brother was gentle; just the way he handled him in the morning was so kind. He had only felt his twin's hands on his faced and against his hands; his brother's arms holding him. Though it was enough, he felt the need for more.

He shook his head. 'Stop it now Dallas! This is ridiculous! We're both clinging to a flimsy hope from the past, and nothing more! He's your brother, you have to stop thinking like that. If you're going to insist on having your mind in the gutter, think about some girl!'

He took a long swig of his liquor in attempt to vanquish the sinful thoughts that plagued his mind. He needed to take a long cold shower. For the love of god, he was in public, his eyes fixated on his twin. That just wasn't healthy. He knew his brother acted one way at home, but how he would act in public would be something different.

'He's trying to keep up appearances by dancing with a girl, or is he?' He bit his lip till it bled as he battled with mixed emotions and thoughts. He needed to stop thinking like this. Save for what unfolded between him and his brother recently, the strange unbrotherly affections that they shared, he felt it might be an illusion.

Brennan's voice jolted Jeremiah from his stupor. "Stop staring at Chelsea! It's bad enough your bloody twin has her wooed! I do not need both of you going after her! She's mine, I'm courting her."

What could one retort in reply to such an accusation? 'Like I'm really going to say that I'm in love with my twin. Oh, how I'm going to be so committed to the loony bin! But, I'm not looking at her…' Jeremiah glanced over at Brennan. "Think what you will."

That was the best possible counter he could come up with. Right now, he honestly didn't care. Let the guy think he was staring lecherously at Chelsea. That would be fine. After all, that was perfectly normally; his feelings weren't.

Standing up before Brennan could say anything, Jeremiah wandered out to the dance floor. It was between songs. He tapped his twin on the shoulder. "Mind if we leave now, I'm really dying of boredom over there…"

Stretching back, Séamus took out the pocket watch he had. "Aw bloody hell, it's not wound. Pray tell, you know the hour, Jeremiah?"

"It's been over two since we arrived, so I think. C'mon, we should go before you friend murders you for taking over his date." Jeremiah replied, stepping between Chelsea and Séamus.

The young woman nodded. "I should return to him before he gets all red in the face with anger." She turned to Séamus. "Thanks for the dance, Mr Kennedy."

"You're welcome, Miss Llwellyn. Shall we do something another night this week, if the war doesn't come all the way here?"

"Would be most delightful! I live in the complex three blocks north of here in the Spinster flats." She winked. "Just ask my landlord and he'll direct you to my cell.

"In time! _Slan abhaile_!" She kissed Séamus on the cheek before running off to her table where she was greeted by the cranky grunt and mannerisms of her escort.

Watching Chelsea wander back, Jeremiah lamented. He turned to his twin. "She seems to remind me of one of the people from my dreams, just like your friend does."

"I'm unsure of the girl, but my friend, most definitely is linked. I think he was the one that the Suzaku Seishi called Tasuki." Séamus replied, watching the pair leave the building. "The girl, I don't know about, she vaguely reminds me of one of the Suzaku Seishi…maybe Chiriko…"

"Quite possibly…"


	9. Isolation

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 7**

In the quietude of a church, a lone monk moved about the monastery. His hair was very scarce, as he kept it very short. The only things that off set the brush cut of his hair was the trailing pony tail in the back and his long, gravity defying bangs that hung in his face. His bangs hid a scar on the monk's face. It was faded but still notable.

Stopping at the dais of the altar, staring up at the Gothic altarpiece, the monk brushed his fingers through his hair. He then clasped his hands in prayer form. His lips moved, no sound filtered out as he mouthed the words to a Latin prayer.

He paused, looking up. 'There's danger no da. Something's going to happen, no da, I sense it. What it is, I cannot say. But it will happen, so no da. Sadly, I have no way of reporting it to any of the others no da.'

Sighing morosely, the monk wandered out to his small office where he found his cage with the carrier pigeons cooing. He nodded at them and took out his quill and wrote down a message. It was short and brief. He feared it wouldn't land in the hands of one of the fourteen Seishi. He didn't care if it came into the possession of the Seiryuu Seishi. Actually, he would rather it go to the Suzaku or one of the five human Seiryuu warriors.

Removing a carrier pigeon from the cage, he attached the note to the bird's ankle. Once it was securely fastened, he walked to the double paned windows and thrust them open. Holding up his hands that held the bird, he released it.

As he watched his fly away, he whispered, "bring it to one who I can trust, no da."

His hand touched his age-old scar. He had no notion as how he had got it. All he had were vague illusions of a tainted past where he had killed those that had meant something to him and watched his true love abandon him because of something as simple as a kiss. He sighed plaintively. 

He had an awareness of the presence of memories that plagued him. But, the monk chose to ignore them. He thought them to be the temptation of the devil trying to lure him into sin.

~~~~

**1942**

It was the dawning of a New Year. It was the next year in the nasty prolonged war that spanned over the globe as a whole. In Europe, the struggle between the Axis and the Allies persisted, with no lift-up in the intensity of the battle. On the other side of the world, in the Pacific Ocean, the Empire of Japan battled against the awakened giant: America.

Jeremiah had spend the last day of the fateful year trying to convince his regiment captain, Captain Andreas to transfer him to home front duty. The captain had blatantly laughed in his face when the prospect had been proposed, but backed down realising that the boy now had backbone.

He had gave the boy a twisted smirk, dismissing him from duty. As the second class private turned to leave after saluting his superior, his wrist was seized and the captain pulled the boy in. The stood, just face to face. The cold, piercing blue eyes of the captain stared down knowingly into the fearful deep blue ones of Jeremiah.

"Just as weak as before, _Amiboshi_. This is just like before. You tried to weasel out of the mission to go to Konan-koku. It was because of that miserable little brother of yours. He thought he was being protective of you. If you can recall; think back. Remember how you foiled the summoning of Suzaku? The feeling of victory. You escaped from the others and helped bring Kutou victory.

"This is also the same. You're fighting for America; you're not fighting for yourself, you're fighting for the freedom of all Americans and people everywhere. Once more, that bratty brother of yours sticks his nose where he doesn't belong. Now you try to get out of this. 

"Very nice, I'm amazed." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. "You can prove just how much of a yellow-backed, spineless jellyfish you are by doing this."

He smiled, his lips twisted into a nasty smirk. "You can skip duty. Why resign, _I'll_ personally be happy to write up your discharge **private**."

Jeremiah shivered at the words of his captain. He had only a vague recollection of what Nakago had been like. The conduct of this captain chilled him to the bone. The man was a mould of the shogun. 

His eyes narrowed, but he didn't pull his wrist from the captain's grip for it was much of a vice. Instead, he scathingly countered, "do you really think I give a flying damn what you think? I didn't care before and I don't care now. Write up the bloody discharge and see if I give a flying damn, _Captain_!"

"You will when the dishonourable discharge tarnishes your reputation. You're gutless, you have no backbone to fight for your country. Just like before. I'll dismiss you, but don't count on acquiring home duties because consider this your dishonourable discharge for your lack of willingness to defend the weak." Captain Andreas hissed softly in reply. His lips were gnarled into a nasty smirk as he spoke.

"I have done nothing of sorts to deserve a _dishonourable_ discharge, captain." Jeremiah seethed in reply through tightly clenched teeth.

"A pass at your commanding officer _is_ what you've done, Second Class Private Dallas." The captain replied without missing a beat. At that, he brought the young man's mouth to his, pressing his mouth down. Releasing the youth, he walked away, back to his desk. "Such misconduct on the part of the private."

"**Misconduct**?!" _Misconduct_?!" Jeremiah stared hatefully at the captain, as he couldn't believe the man could get away with tarnishing his reputation just because he didn't wish to sacrifice his life on the battle field of Europe. He was aghast with shock from the whole thing. It was revolting.

"Such behaviour would destroy faith in the American armed forces, the navy and the air force. We cannot allow it." Captain Andreas sneered in reply, the same quirked smirk on his face as he plucked his pen from his desk, touching the inked tip to a piece of paper he had extracted from his files in order to do the write-up.

"I demand to be court martial based on _your_ wild allegations, sir. I want justice done." Jeremiah replied, keeping himself composed. This couldn't be happening. He didn't need the notice of a discharge to taint the rest of his life.

"_You_ demand? It doesn't work like that son. However, I will forgo writing up this report if you," glancing up with just his piercing, chillingly indifferent blue eyes, the captain offered, "if you demonstrate backbone, pick up the damned Carbine Calibre Rifle and go fight on the western front like a man! But if you persist in this childish behaviour, then I have no choice but to discharge you. The army is for men, not wimpy pansies, Dallas."

"That's blackmail, sir. I'm still not leaning in. It won't work this time, guilt isn't a vice for me any more. I know my twin is fine, so I won't be manipulated by you." Jeremiah saluted his superior officer, before turning on his heel to leave the office. In hand he had held a letter. It was his letter of resignation from the United States Army.

He dropped it on the receptionist's desk. She had left for a break. So, he left it there for her to pass on when she returned. He then left the building without a further word, not giving a damn if he did indeed get a negative write-up and a dishonourable discharge. It wouldn't affect him. He could find work here and not have a tarnished reputation because of allegations that he made a pass at his commanding officer.

Departing from the building, Jeremiah felt a boast of self-confidence. He hadn't felt it before. Maybe he had been a spineless jellyfish before his encounter with the captain, but it all changed. He had learnt he wasn't really an orphan; he was just missing his family due to a huge mistake.

He could survive, he had what mattered to him, his twin. The one person in the world that understood him without having to ask or wonder. That was relishing; it was reassuring. It gave him a place in this forsaken world where the weak were tossed out into the cold to wither and die, or vainly struggle to endure.

Brushing his loose hanging bangs from his face, Jeremiah sighed thoughtfully. He now had way too much time on his hands. He wouldn't be involved in any military activity, so what did people do for fun here? Drinking, brawling and courting all seemed big. Menial labour if you were Catholic was also big. Granted, his view was somewhat narrowed given that he had only been in Ireland for a month.

He paused at the gates. He didn't want to return to the flats because then he would have nothing to do all day. He also didn't want to join his brother. Fighting was what he wanted to avoid and he got out of battling in the war for that reason, so it would do him no good to take up arms in a civil battle. He could roam down, but then there was the chance of being arrested on the charge of itinerancy. 

How he loathed his lack of choices. There were so few for him to choose from. He then decided he could always seek out work. No matter what he did in terms of work, it would still constitute as not being military involvement, even if he was to try and find work in an ammunition factory as a labourer. There were the docks; men were always looking for young, strong men to help with the haul.

With his hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his jacket that was open, he trudged along, his shoed foot scraping the ground. The soles were somewhat worn, but he didn't care. He had worse problem to contend with. Finding work was his main goal for the time being. He didn't want to burden his twin with being the one t acquire all the income, he felt a certain responsibility to pull his load.

'Well, this is my life. Some life. I'm not piddling around the streets of downtown Dublin in search of work. I am such a loser; I'm like so not cat's pyjamas!' Jeremiah groused, walking along. He ignored the gaggle of idiots that milled around him.

He stopped shortly at a small music shop at the end of a street. It appeared to sell vinyl albums and instruments. It had a small sign asking for a clerk with some musical background. He studied the sign for a minute, saddened that he hadn't had the chance in this life to pursue the flute. 

He quickly moved from the shop front. He would try tomorrow when he would break up over something he regretted not having been able to have done. He pushed the threatening tears back. He wouldn't let them come forth and betray his emotions. He kept them in his protective shell as he had for many years.

His brother was the only one he showed his emotions to. He couldn't hide anything from his twin' his brother saw past his mask. It was a vain, futile effort to deceived his twin.

He stopped. Leaning against a tree, Jeremiah hugged himself, feeling empty for a moment as he thought about the night he and his brother had gone out. His twin had literally swept a young woman off her feet and now she was all for him. He felt notably jealous, fearing that what happened between him and his brother was fleeting.

A silent sob escaped him. Maybe he had been too much of a dreamer to hope that he could live with his twin in deception. He wanted to be the way they were. Behind closed doors they hurt no one. But he feared the repercussions of Chelsea's infatuation with his twin. He feared the chance that his brother would come to love her as she did with him. It was only a petty crush on her part and courtesy on the part of his twin.

'But what if it becomes more?' Jeremiah didn't heed the randomly falling tears that rolled down his cheeks. He only felt his internal conflict. He knew what he felt for his brother and clung to the shanty hope that his twin felt the same. He had been under the illusion that Séamus did feel the same as he did. That's what he believed, especially given that his brother acted in the way that he had hoped for.

He gazed up at the setting sun and colourful sky. He had to find a way to make sure he didn't lose his twin. He desperately needed his brother, more than he could ever imagine.

~~~~

Sighing, Aimée gazed out the window at the horizon. It was another year she had been here and another she had been unable to contact her family. It saddened her greatly. She didn't know how her mother and father fared. She wondered about the possible disposition of her younger sister. She feared what the Germans would have done to her home. Would it have been plundered? Was her family killed, or were they alive and well, trying to contact her? She wished to know if her mail was being screened…

How she wanted so many questions answered that went unanswered as she looked out the window. She paused in her observation, her eyes catching sight of a carrier pigeon that had landed on her windowsill. Thrusting the windows open, she scooped up the bird in question, taking the creature in hand. 

Its feathers felt so soft against her skin. She nuzzled her cheek against it, listening to the creature coo. Pulling back, she noticed the note tied to the bird's ankle. Gingerly untying the string that held it in place, she removed it, placing the bird down on her bed. 

She gazed at the note. It hadn't been written in an unfamiliar vernacular. It was scripted in the universal language of Latin. She could read it, but her written wasn't so great. She bit her lip as she read. 

'Something's going to happen? I doubt if this note indicates anything relating to the war. I should try and find out more.'

Aimée sat at her desk, taking out her quill. She then dipped the tip in the inkwell on her desk. Daintily she touched the nib to the parchment she had in front of her. Her cursive was tidy and tiny. Carefully she wrote down her reply, hoping parts would dry as she wrote. 

She was unable to script properly in Latin, so she prayed that the person who had sent her this, or rather, the person who was trying to find someone to warn, could read French. She wrote it down quickly, but not fast as to make an error.

_"Cher monsieur,_

_J'ai reçu votre avertissement. Qu'est-ce vous crainte? Je sais que ce ne peut pas être la guerre, pour cela seul est le plus effrayant. A-t-il quelque chose à faire avec les dieux des cieux, ou les étoiles du destin? S'il vous plaît expliquez. Pour maintenant, je puis seulement correspondre à vous par l'intermédiaire du pigeon voyageur. _

_Sincèrement, _

Aimée"

* I received your warning. What is it you fear? I know it cannot be the war, for that alone is most fearsome. Does it have anything to do with the gods of the heavens, or the stars of destiny? Please do explain. For now, I can only correspond with you via carrier pigeon.

Once she signed off the response with a flourish to her script, she gingerly picked up the letter, softly blowing on it, hoping to dry the ink so it would dry quickly. Dabbing a finger on the ink, she sighed, for some had come off on her pale digit. She tried to air dry it more before she attached it to the pigeon's ankle, sending it out the window.

No words crossed her lips as she leaned on the windowsill, watching the departing carrier pigeon return her note to the mysterious person. All she knew was that the writer was a monk. That was it. She wished she knew more.


	10. Propositions and Decisions

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 8**

Standing before the General's desk, his hat removed, Captain Andreas stood proposing his first big move into Nazi occupied Europe. He didn't have any elaborate plans, just something small. His claim was that it would break the ice, giving the Allies leeway into the mainland thus assisting in driving out the menace. 

"So, sir, with your permission, I'd like to take my troops in and try to reclaim Dunkirk; succeed where the French failed." Captain Andrea's concluded.

"Are you stark raving mad? That's the point we got pushed to near death at! Ye gads, you're mad as a hatter, Andreas!" General Marshall spat at the low ranking commanding officer. 

"I'm not madder than a fool. If I were mad as a hatter, I would propose storming on the heart of it all, Berlin. But Dunkirk is a more reasonable choice. I have a certain feeling about this point I wish to seize back for France, sir."

"And what might that feeling be, insanity?!"

"……"

"I'll accept your silence as a yes." General Marshall replied. He kept the same neutral expression he always wore. He stood up from the chair at his desk, wandering to the large double pane window. Resting a hand against it, he stared out. He watched the young men train for what might be the last days and weeks of their lives as they would be sent out to the front to fight and return. In some cases, they would never see home again.

'This war is robbing these young men of their best years. It's going to forever scar them. They won't be able to heal. Only their physical wounds will, everything else will be tarnished, forever. It's a shame to have to send these resilient young men out to fight.'

He paused, remembering the letter of resignation he had received from one of these young men. He had smiled while reading it for some reason. His guess was that this boy wasn't going to be risking his life and that he wouldn't be scarred. The general had also ignored the notice of discharge that the captain had written up. He brushed it off as being the writings of a madman

He had asked his secretary to write up the discharge as a resignation instead of a dishonourable discharge. The general had his own doubts about the legitimacy of the captain's allegations. He assumed that the captain was just pissed off because he lost one of his men. It wasn't unusual. The general had an idea as to why it might have happened. There were horror tales being circulated about the war courtesy of the IRA who hated the British and didn't care if England was conquered.

He inhaled thoughtfully. As much as he despised the much-outlawed IRA for its anti-enlisting propaganda, he found a small reassurance in what it did. It saved the lives of a few young men with impressionable minds. These young men would help the war in another way, by directly helping the allies instead of solely the British.

He sighed and turned back to Captain Andreas. "Captain your dismissed. You may go forth with your _mission_, but be warned, if any of your men die, you will be discharged for misconduct and lack of hind sight."

"I doubt my failure, sir." Captain Andreas saluted his superior, before giving a nasty, twisted smirk. "Permission to speak."

"Permission granted."

"General Marshall, why did you allow the resignation on the part of one of my men slip so readily? It was misconduct. Or have you developed a soft spot for the dissidents who support the goddamned nationalists?!"

"I let it go because I didn't wish to see the boy die, captain."

"You're being presumptive sir. You seem to believe the boy would die. However, he was in my company and I discharged him. You overrode my write-up. You're a British General, you don't work for the United States Army. You may have the power of command but to override the decision of a commanding officer in another army is ulterior."

"I just have compassion, something you could use a lesson in."

"There is a war to fight and I need all my men. What I do not need is compassion for that weak that can't defend their country."

"You haven't changed, have you, _Nakago_." General Marshall replied neutrally, wandering over to face the blonde captain. His gaze was pointed though indifferent. He didn't give way for the captain to reply. "Captain, you're dismissed, now get out of my sight before I scrap this mission."

Captain Andreas turned sharply on his heel and vanished from the vicinity without so much as even nodding at his superior. He had no patience for anyone that he considered weak-willed. He had one other reason for this mission. He was surrounded in Suzaku Seishi and the only Seiryuu Seishi had resigned. He desperately yearned to track down his kin so that he wouldn't be out-numbered.

'Hotohori and Mitsukake. They are the only two Suzaku Seishi. There might possibly be three. That girl, she might be the one they called Chiriko. There is one other Seiryuu Seishi, but not the one I want. He had no purpose before. He was merely there to serve my needs before Seiryuu no Miko arrived. He had no further use once destroying the summoning of Suzaku. He has no use now. As much as I need him in my brigade, I do not need to worry about him getting weak and finding good in the enemy and joining them as he did before.' He stopped at the exit to the building. 'Soi…were you reborn into this miserable, forsaken world?'

~~~~

Stripped down to just his breeches as he sorted his laundry into piles of dirty, dirtier and dirtiest, Séamus sighed, bringing the back of his hand up to brush his bangs back out of his face. They protruded far down these days, serving as an impediment on his sight. Pushing his hair behind his ears, he reach for a scarf he had and tied it around his head, hoping it would push his hair back and keep it there until he had a chance to see the local barber and have his hair trimmed.

Stepping back, he dropped the sorted piles in sequential order from least dirty to dirtiest, as this was the only means he knew how to classify and sort laundry by. Actually doing his laundry was something that was out of his range of expertise. He left that task to his landlord's wife who did it as part of the agreement.

Taking the basket in hand, Séamus turned to leave and put it out by the landlord's wife's washing basin, he hit head on with Jeremiah. Consequently, the basket fell from the young man's grip, the contents scattering over the floor. He hadn't a chance to retrieve it before his brother had him gripped by the shoulders, staring intently into his eyes with passionate filled ones.

Backing his brother against a wall, Jeremiah pinned his brother in place. "You are going where, nor am I, brother." He whispered huskily. He didn't give any breathing space between his words and next move. 

Fiercely he pressed his lips against his brother's, his tongue and mouth plundering the sweet cavern that was his brother. He failed to notice the stunned shock of his twin. There were no signs of revolt, just shock. That was a good thing.

Once Séamus recovered from the initial imposing move of his brother that locked him into a corner and kissing his with wild passionate, he shuddered a moan against his twin's mouth. Bringing his hand up, he threaded his fingers through the unkempt, silky hair of his twin. He used this to hold his brother's mouth against his.

After a moment he pulled back, asking, "what brought that on?" He breathe was somewhat laboured as it had been taken away by his brother's sudden moves.

"My freedom, Shun." Jeremiah breathed softly against his brother's mouth, his eyes dancing in time with his brother's. "I don't have duty…I didn't want to die or risk losing you again because of war, my dear Shun-chan."

"Aniki." Séamus replied; his breath still not controlled. He could only stare into his brother's eyes, searching for origin of this hidden passion he had just experienced. He wanted to know where it all came from… 

"Don't speak until I'm done, Shun." Jeremiah pressed a finger against his brother's lips, stopping his twin from speaking. Once satisfied he had the floor, he stared earnestly into his twin's eyes. "I love you, and I'm not letting you get away this time. I was a fool to even have let Nakago get away with what he did. But he did. But the same mistake won't happen this time.

"Shun-chan, I need you to answer something for. Put my anxieties to rest. You've been courting Miss Chelsea but you haven't been affronted by my conduct. What do you feel towards me, please, I cherish your honesty. I've given you mine."

His lips lightly kissed his twin's finger. "Words fail me, Aniki. I do return your feelings. I'm courting Chelsea because she's delightful company and she's a very intelligent lady, I respect her for her spirit and strength. She's a great friend." 

Séamus took his brother's hand in his. "You don't have to be jealous of her, Aniki."

Holding his twin's hand for a minute, not moving, Jeremiah sighed, bringing his twin's warm hand to his face. Gingerly kissing his twin's fingers, he stared, fixated, into his brother's deep blue eyes. He said nothing as his mouth softly came to press against his brother's.

Breathing huskily against his brother's mouth, Séamus threaded his fingers through the sandy brown tresses of his brother, drawing his twin's mouth closer to his. His mouth pressed fiercely against his twin's, milking it.

Briefly breaking his mouth away from his twin's, Jeremiah sighed, snaking his arms around his brother's slender frame. He held his twin against him, inhaling his brother's scent. Softly under his breath, against his brother's ear, he murmured, "we won't make the same mistake twice, Shun-chan…. I won't ever leave you. I'm sorry about before; I'll…"

"Shh, it's okay, Aniki." Séamus brought a finger to his brother's lips, cutting off his twin's explanation, as he deemed it unnecessary. "Don't waste your breath. You did nothing wrong before. At least you got to live peacefully."

Random, stray tears fell from his eyes.

"Shun!" Jeremiah's hand flew to his brother's face, wiping the tears immediately. He then gingerly pressed his lips to where his brother's tear had fallen. "Don't cry…your tears are mine. You cry, I cry."

"Aniki…" Séamus whispered, his bottom lip quivering. His eyes shone with moisture, staring emptily at the ceiling above, seeing nothing for a minute. His body shivered.

"Oh god…Shun!" Jeremiah completely embraced his brother in his arms, trying to bring heat to his brother's body. "It's okay. Please, tell me, what's wrong. You cried. Your tears are mine. Please, don't bottle up your pain!" His hands grasped his twin closely, feeling over his twin's back. 

"Ye gads…you're cold, Shun-chan!" He exclaimed, alarmed. "You'll catch a chill if you don't warm up quickly!" He could feel the same shiver of coolness that lanced his brother's body and it unsettled him greatly.

"No…I-I'm fine." He protested against his twin's move. In truth he did feel cold and he had felt under the weather for the last few days. But he hadn't had the guts in his heart to burden his brother with such information.

"Are you sure?" Jeremiah fired in retort, his eyes fixated in deep concern on his brother's. He felt distrust towards his brother's words. He didn't want his brother to be unwell. A certain intuition sparked within him. He did sense something amiss in his brother. His brow furrowed deeply in worry.

"Why are you lying?" There was an underlying tone of hurt in his voice. "Why?!"

"I-I'm not…" Séamus fired back, wincing at his brother's tone. He felt pain from his deception but he didn't want to burden his brother.

"Are…please, don't." Tears stung the older boy's eyes. "Please…" His voice cracked.

"I-I'm fine…"

"No, you're chilled. You're brow is feverish." The older one pressed a hand to his brother's face. "Shit, you're burning up terribly!"

"No…stop." Séamus took his brother's hand in his. "Honestly, I'll be fine. You're overreacting a touch, don't you think, brother?!" He flashed a warm, reassuring smile at his brother.

"No…" Jeremiah sighed resignedly. "I-I'll let it be…" His tone was morose.

He then watched his twin gather up what had been dropped. 'Why won't you admit it, brother?! Why are you hiding it from me, what do you fear?…'

_Next Morning_

A soft groan came from Séamus, as he rolled over, tossing his arms over his face, trying to block out the light. It hurt his eyes. Everything ached with a dull tingle. Everything burnt; an infernal raged in his body, his brow laden thickly with a visible layer of perspiration. His body was a germ factory as his eyes watered and a wheezy cough rumbled deeply in his chest.

'Good god, I feel like total shit!' He groused, groaning and moaning in pain. He thrashed, trying to get comfortable. But it wasn't happening, as his body was twisted and intertwined in the blankets of his bed. It only increased his temperature. 

Ironically, at the same instant, parts shivered, chilled. The parts of his body that had been exposed to the room had grown cool. He couldn't gain equilibrium for his entire body. He lay in a cesspool of his own bodily fluids that had dripped from the pores of his form through the night.

"Ani-ki…" His voice cracked and was barely above a whisper. 

He closed his eyes, throwing his pillow over his eyes. 'Please, don't let this be TB or anything like that. Shit…is this Cholera…' He moaned pained. It wasn't fair. He had only been under the weather, not feeling the greatest, but this was an injustice!

'Just like before. I'm no stronger, I'm just as weak….' Tears stung his eyes and escaped unheeded. The salty tears melted into the moisture that laced his face, dripping off his chin onto the pillow.

"…I'm just terminally pathetic!" His voice was horse and muffled beneath the pillow he had tossed over his head in a vain effort to block out the natural elements of reality. However, it just didn't work, his form pulsed with heat and cold bursts. His level of discomfort soared astronomically.

"No, you're terminally ignorant." Jeremiah glibly remarked sashaying into the area that was a pathetic rendition of what might be a bedroom. Actually, it was a shoebox with a bed inserted. The area of the room barely could hold even a tiny closet. The bed was narrow.

The outside area of the room was barely adequate in size. It held a tiny kitchenette, with a freezer box and a half-size wood stove, and a living room with a chesterfield and a radio.

The only response that was heard was a disconsolate groan.

Smiling wanly, Jeremiah sat on the edge of the bed. "This is what you get for not listening to me, Séamus."

"You're _so_ kind! Thanks for your bloody damned compassion, makes me feel a whole fucking lot better! Oh, your thoughtfulness is just _so_ overwhelming." Séamus fired back in retort, his voice strained. His tone was harshly dry. He didn't glare out from beneath his pillow, but it was obvious that he was irritated. 

"Wow~ It's sick but it can still bite!"

"Don't humour me, asshole!"

"Someone's cranky…"

"No shit!"

"Poor baby needs sleep!"

"Leave me the fuck alone. I feel like total shit and I don't need you making it any bloody worse!"

"Aw…my poor brother…" Jeremiah purred, his hand gingerly slipping beneath his brother's pillow. He touched his cool hand to his twin's heated forehead.

Upon contact, his eyes were narrowed in concern. "I think you should see the physician, brother. It seems bad. If you had listened…"

"Spare me the bloody sermon!" Séamus sharply exclaimed, his tone confrontational. Proceeding this, he broke out into a coughing spasm.

Jeremiah's brow furrowed concertedly. "I'll go get him now."

Standing up swiftly, he fled the room, desperately in search of the physician. He barely had enough knowledge to track down the man. He had only blind luck and shanty knowledge to pull on as he broke into a run, checking the buildings that lined the street. He desperately sought to remember where his brother had said the doctor's officer was. He couldn't quite seem to have any recollection of it. It was all blinded by a blur of memories that he didn't want nor want to see at this moment.

He stopped dead in his tracks; images of a sickly boy flashed before his eyes. Further images of himself, at the same images also did. He could see himself frantically mothering-henning his ill twin in a futile attempt to relief the pain his brother was being plagued with.

At that moment, an idea struck him. He could see himself leaning over his brother, his mouth barely inches from his twin's. He wasn't about to kiss his twin. No, he was about to transfer chi via his mouth to his twin's. 

'That's right! Chi transfers! Maybe that could lower his fever!' Jeremiah thought happily as he turned back around and ran back to his twin's flat in order to put his notion into practice.


	11. Crossing Paths

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 9**

Sighing heavily, her eyes glazed over morosely, Aimée stared sightlessly out the window of her prison. She hated it. She wanted to have her wings back and be able to feel the wind beneath them. She was disinclined by the notion of being in possession of clipped wings because of the jerks that were in charge of holding up guard at this base.

She knew she had her resistance, but it was still hard to hold meetings, especially since Van Eyke's crew was a batch of relentless bastards who didn't let up with the constant supervision, keeping an eye out for any form of mutiny. They couldn't make any plans or progress. One would have anticipated a language barrier, but it seemed that unlike the last ones that guarded this place, this group knew some French, especially the lieutenant.

The lieutenant of the group seemed familiar to her. Though how, she was unable to phantom. She desired to be privy to it, but it was withheld from her. It was a risky and entrancing secret she wanted to get her hands on. She needed to, but something stood in the way of that...some obstacle.

She wanted and needed to overcome it at any cost, even at her life. She needed to know why she felt a link to the lieutenant whom she had never known in her entire life. She felt like she had known him before, but didn't know from whence. It was to become her mission to discover the truth behind the shadowed face.

"Miss Beauregard," Lieutenant Van Eyke stood in the doorway, his presence overwhelming. He had an air to him that cried for attention from anyone in the room. His upper lip curled into a sneer. "I trust you're not planning any mutiny on my watch, are you?!" 

He cackled diabolically. It sent chills tingling down her spin at the sound of his cackle. It sounded so hauntingly familiar. She heard it echo in her brain. Over and over it echoed, calling for her mind to work to place a finger on the origin of it. She heard an answer within the essence of her existence. It was there.

Her grey eyes shot open as she spun around, her burgundy braid flying with her. "You..." She growled in a low, scathing voice. Her eyes narrowed sharply. She could clearly see the peering beady golden eyes that stared contemptuously at her.

Springing to her feet from the bay window at which she sat, Aimée backed away, her eyes pinned to the lieutenant. She remembered now and she remembered clearly. It was a stake through her heart looking at this man. He had been nothing more than a rival that hated her and treated her badly. All she had wanted was the blonde Shogun's love, but instead she had earned the antipathy of the twisted serpent known as Tomo.

Her hand went over where her heart was. "Tomo." She hissed. "What do you want with me anyway?! Don't you have some other poor soul you haven't tortured yet, or haven't had all you could get?!"

His lips, still curled in a sneer, moved to take a smirk. His voice was soft and unnerving in its detachment. "Soi, I was off-duty and noticed a coo breeze that came from this room. I'm merely initiating my duty to check to see that you're okay."

"I was hoping to enjoy fresh air, as I feel suffocated in this place now." Aimée fired back in a haughty manner. Her eyes flared in indignation. She had been indifferent to Tomo; she hated his reincarnation. She failed to hide her hatred in her tone. It dripped notably from her voice as she spoke.

"It's still no reason to fling the windows wide open as if to create a chance to escape. I can see it in your eyes, do not deny it." Lieutenant Van Eyke replied. His French was laced with the hint of the faintest German accent on it. "Also, I suspect you've been planning a form of resistance. You never were the type to obey any orders, Soi."

"You know nothing about me Tomo! Assume what you will, but rest assured it'll be false, just like your illusions." Aimée scathingly replied through clenched teeth. She didn't know how he did, but he did. He managed to get under her skin much like a bad rash.

"Really?!" he cackled, amused. Wandering over he moved to where her bed as located and lifted up the mattress, pulling out a pile of documentation scripted down on parchment. Curtly, he glanced over, his piercing golden eyes occasionally glancing up at her.

Shredding them with the means of an illusion, he smirked at her. "Lying right through your teeth. How like you Soi, anything to cover your tracks. You can't pull any stunts with me around. Just this time shall I let it go with a warning, but next time, you'll only get one last chance to see the sun rise."

He drew his finger across his neck, a nasty smirk plastered to his face. "Count on your blood spilling for the tiniest infraction, Miss Beauregard."

Sharply he turned on his heel and left the room. Her mouth was agape, as she hadn't been given the chance to retort to his threat. She bristled in anger. How she loathed the sight of him, the sound and the presence. It all sickened to her to end.

'Oh, like I'm going to be modest humble and obey?! Hell no! I'm not going to let you run my life! I'm certainly am not going to let you push around any of the other women just because your big fat ass is in charge.' She smirked. 

"The bigger they are, the harder they fall. He will fall hard. His arrogance..."

"Who's arrogant?!" Another young woman stuck her head in the room. She was smaller than Aimée, but just as strikingly gorgeous. She had waist-length purple hair that she kept back in an immaculate braid. Her eyes were a soft cobalt blue and seemed to shine with certain mirth. 

"Oh, _that_ lieutenant." Aimée replied distastefully. 

"Ah, him." The young woman chuckled. She flipped her braid over her shoulder revealing her nameplate to read: "St Pierre". 

"Yes, him." Aimée nodded back. "He seems to suspect an underground resistance. Angel what are we to do if he does discover the truth in that?!"

Angel, or rather Angelique growled softly. "Damn. How did he find out?! It's impossible. Everything was hidden and none of us wanted them bastards to find out!"

"He deliberately did a random search on my room!"

"What?! He can't do that!"

"He did."

Once more, Angelique let out a growl. Her lip curled in the accompanying fashion as she displayed her disinclination to the notion of random searches. She feared the chance of the lieutenant launching a siege inspection on her quarters. She had highly sensitive documents that could incriminate the entire group in one glance.

"Good gracious! What if he does decide to inspect other quarters...? " Angelique panicked, anxiously looking around, her cobalt blue eyes frantically drinking in their surroundings.

Then, she raised her fist and put it through the wall, and in her frustration left a notably large hole where she had struck. She then giggled nervously. "I guess I don't know my own strength some times..."

Aimée's left eye just twitched spasmodically. 'Oi...'

~~~~

A slow, monotonous tick of a prayer wheel echoed loudly through the long empty corridors of the monastery. It was complimented by the faint sound of a scripted chant, a traditional prayer to the heavens. It seemed almost somewhat satanic in nature. It didn't have an edge of holiness to it. There was a dark surrounding spirit. Candles flickered ominously. 

It caught the ear of the blue haired monk. He was doing his nightly rounds after sending off his loyal carrier pigeon again. He had found someone to communicate with. It seemed to a young woman of French origin who was notably a POW at the mercy of the Germans. He needed the lines of communication and feared having them cut for she understood what he wrote.

The monk wandered over to the room and cast a brief gaze it. It was the Abbott of the area. He seemed to be doing some sort of cult-like satanic ritual to summon demons and ordering them to dance seductively around him. It was sinfully sacrilegious. The monk didn't know how to react. He had been anticipating something ominous...could this have been it, that there was the existence of some demonic force in the Catholic Church?!

The monk's eyes narrowed. He himself wasn't an exorcist but he needed one and post haste. He knew the house one was out on an emergency call and had been for the last while. The monk panicked. He hated this; it terrified him and brought a sense of insecurity. It breached everything they stood for.

He felt a surge of power in his fingertips.

"Da?" He quizzically gazed down at his hands. "What is this no da? Why do I feel some form of black magic and supernatural power in my hands? Is this a sign from God for me to stop this demon?"

He made a contemplative mew. His eyes scanned the area. Lifting his hands he shot out a large red ball of chi. The blast left a notably sizeable hole in the wall. Despite all probes of common sense, he smirked.

'Interesting no da.' He nodded in satisfaction as he summoned to his hand a staff from a nearby corner. He traditionally used it during Holy Communion, but there was a draw to it that wasn't pious yet it seemed right.

Before his eyes, he saw images of a place that he seemed like an ancient world. He saw a large shrine with a metal sculpture idol of a phoenix emerging from the flames of ruins to take on glory of resurrection and second chances. He saw a young pretty cute with mousy brown hair, perky cheerful eyes garnished elaborately in a soft flowing gown the priestess of the phoenix god wore for a summoning. Her hands clasped together as she uttered a prayer and the flames of Suzaku crackled before her as she confidently recited the words of the summoning incantation.

His mind flashed back before that to a body of rushing water; an inner raging turbulence as a young man - himself - attempted to save another. But he failed as something came in contact with his eye, gauging it out, leaving a painful scar on his heart and a mark on his face he would hide beneath a mask.

Opening his eyes, he was drawn back to the present as he remembered one encounter he'd never forget. He could seen the image of cherub faced youth holding a prayer wheel, stabbing himself in the heart to defeat a demon that killed many others. That encounter seemed to spark back to life again, but in another circumstance entirely.

'Da...time to clear out all things impure.' The monk turned back to the chambers where the satanic rituals were being blatantly conducted in the eye of the Lord.


	12. The White Rose

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 10**

The group, _La Résistance_, was formed around the same instance, a small group of dissidents within the heart of the German empire found themselves in disgust of the Third Reich and its leader, the _Führer_. They began to speak of their disrespect and disinclination towards the forced loyalty to their Machiavellian dictator leader that savagely overran Europe in the storm of a blinding Blitzkrieg. 

Unlike the majority of the resistance factions that sprang up for the people's cause over the landmass of Europe, this particular group found itself in the heart of it all and would soon find themselves at the ruthless hands of the Gestapo. The only problem was, they didn't know it. They truly believed that they were doing what was right, as many others did.

The three leading figures were two males and a female. They had entitled themselves The White Rose after a recently published Spanish novel one of them had read recently. In addition to just themselves they had a group of friends who felt the same way, join them. They all shared their common hatred and disgust for the Third Reich.

They were somewhat of an underground resistance force, as many others were. They slowly began to plot their glorious uprising in the streets against the suppressive government that was more beast than man. They had some leaflets that had been written up, crying out their tale for the world to hear.

Brushing her platinum, pale whitish-blond hair from her face, the leading female of the group, stood up from her chair, swinging her legs around as her feet came into connection with the hard linoleum floor. She smiled brightly at her best friend, on whom she had a mild crush, but couldn't ever confess. After doing so, she moved to where he was and gazed over his shoulder at what he was writing.

The young man, a golden-eyed lad with striking silverish hair, slaved over a document that would be the latest of the group's leaflets. A pensive expression spanned over his featured, as he intensely gazed at he page, his hand fiercely working to script down the latest details the group had found. They were only on their second leaflet, but they certainly had captured the fancy of the people.

A second young man gazed up from his work. He pivoted his chair around to watch his friends, as he did, his less-than shoulder length hair spun with him. It was a deep chocolate brown and was contrasted with strikingly soft grey eyes. He wore in his hair a white rose as a symbol of his cause. 

"How's the scripting faring?" He queried, gazing at his silver-haired friend.

"Not bad, we'll be done this leaflet soon enough." The golden-eyed youth replied; gazing up at the young woman that stared down amiably at him.

"I have the necessary stamps needed for circulation." The young woman injected. "How far do you want to expand our campaign today?"

"As far as we can, without catching any attention from the bloody Gestapo."

"They seem to be crawling everywhere these days. Avoidance oft seems inevitable. Had a horrid encounter none but yesterday."

"They didn't note you much? Did they interrogate you?"

"Thankfully no, but they certainly give me the creeps. Lord I feared my blush and red ears would have given me away as some form of a traitor. I felt that they surely would have plucked me off the streets and charged me with treason." She touched her hand over her heart and let out a breath of relief.

"That's good. Don't need them damned bastards breathing down our neck because of twisted ideas that horrid man has. Can't believe the German folk were desperate enough to have voted that asshole into power!" The golden eyed young man snarled.

"Calm down. No need to get riled up. Save that energy for later." The female replied, her slender hands gently massaging his tense shoulders. "It's not good for your health."

The golden eyed youth moaned softly. Her hands could calm him so easily. "I guess you're right. I should save my energy for when it's really needed."

"We have an incoming request from Silent Lightening!" The other male stated. He wandered over, picking up the receiver. He switched into French. "_Oui_, Plant Guardian, over."

"Plant Guardian, this is Silent Lightening. I'm glad you're there!" The one who claimed the handle moniker of Silent Lightening cooed eagerly over the radio. "We face great problems here! One of Hitler's lead men has taken over our base, making it near impossible for us to conduct any meetings without being subjugated to intense scrutiny. Over."

"Intense, how so? Over." Concern deeply laced the voice of Plant Guardian. 

"To the point of discovering that there is a form of dissent here, a small rebellion and resistance in the works." Silent Lightening replied, her voice shaking, as if she felt she was being closed observed. It could be noted that her hands were shaking from the break in the consistency of her voice inflection and level.

"Or so they think. Try hiding pointless evidence to misguide them for the time being until you and others can get your plans back in tact." Plant Guardian sighed softly, his breath echoing in the equipment. "They don't know about the lines of communication yet? Over."

"Hopefully not. Though I fear greatly that...that they might be monitoring us, waiting to...to attack and make us pay." Her voice was cracking. Though no one could see her, from the sound of it, she was likely on the verge of tears.

She swallowed reflexively. Her breath was hardly under control. "I...got a threat this morrow for the documents found beneath my mattress in the barracks I share. I...I fear for not just my life but for those of my friends. Over."  
  
"Stay in control. They thrive off fear. You started the resistance, now hold up even in the face of fear. You're leading strong women and they need a strong leader. Over."

"Plant Guardian!" His golden eyed friend exclaimed suddenly. "We've got GESTS."

The young man nodded. "Silent Lightening, this is Plant Guardian, approaching Gestapo! Over and out!"

Promptly hanging up and killing the connection, Plant Guardian worked to conceal the presence of the communication equipment whilst his colleagues worked with disguising everything else.

The young woman sighed. "Don't they ever get tired of enforcing laws that are absolutely meaningless at this point." She twirled a strand of hair around her finger as she spoke.

"Apparently not." The silver-haired youth bitterly replied, walking to the door, opening it. He was greeted by a group of about seven unimpressed and impatient Gestapo officers, headed by a burly man with a mean face.

The man grabbed the youth by the collar. "All right, listen and listen carefully. For the last three months we've detected radio waves coming unauthorised from this area. Explain and choose your words wisely for they may be your last!"

"It's true, we do have a radio and we've been using it to communicate with family over across in Austria who have military connections and loyalties. They haven't considered a telephone yet, for that is too ungodly for them." The young smiled sweetly in attempt to pass off a blatant lie and twisted truth in place of the hard facts.

A menacing growl escaped the officer; a red hint of anger visibly flashed in his eyes. "I sense a fib in your words, but you appear to be telling the truth. I'll let you and your comrades get away with it, but if we should find out you have indeed lied to us and that there is more than what meets the eye, expect a brief trial and execution for lying to the state."

"I've never considered lying, sir. I believe in the state and that we will prosper from the war in the long run." He added to himself. 'That's a crap load of shit if I ever heard it!' The burly Gestapo officer curtly thrust the boy to the ground and summoned for his officers to halt the raid. "You won't find anything worthwhile in this hovel."

"Right!" The men saluted their commanding officer.

Turning back to the three youths, the commanding officer of the present Gestapo faction, let out a short growl and scathing words. "As for you three, I want to see proof of citizenship right now."

The three youth, in the heat of utter fear, fumbled for the papers resting on their desks and handed them to the officer. Seizing them with aggression, his eyes glanced over, carefully searching for anything that would incriminate the greenness.

He turned to the young lady. "State your name, date and place of birth."

"Elisabet Schuldich, born January 2th, 1923 in München, Bayern." 

He nodded. Casting a hard piercing death glare on the first of the two young men, he snorted scornfully. And made a short gesture for said young man to reply to the same question.

"Nickolaus Wendell, born June 23rd, 1921 in Kiel, Schleswig-Holstien." The one who adopted the handle of Plant Guardian for his own usage.

Without missing a beat nor wishing to heed the prompt from the commanding Gestapo officer, the final youth, the young man with the smooth gazing golden eyes rattled off his data with confidence. "Theodor Dietrich, born April 4th, 1921 in Vienna, Austria. Immigrated to Berlin in 1938."

The officer curtly glanced over the three youths before thrusting the papers in frustration onto the table. How he loathed not catching the dissents when he believed he was truly right. But he did have this nagging feeling about these three that he couldn't write off.

Growling in frustration, commanding officer, Constable Aaron Schnip, turned from the group of three, storming out. He had been so sure he'd catch either some defiant Jew or a dissent. On his way out, his massive hand knocked over a table, toppling a pile of documents, which he paid no mind to.

Behind him scurried out his minion officers. They trampled the pile of fallen papers. Their boots left notable track marks over what were immaculate white sheets of paper. Some even went as far to purposely scuff their boots over to destroy what might be still salvageable after their little visit.

Glaring in contempt as the Gestapo faction departed and shut the door with a building shuddering slam, Theodor muttered something under his breathe, " _Scheiße...wertloser sohn eines weibchens_!"

* Shit...worthless bastards.

Elisabet could only sigh, feeling helpless. Her soft eyes roved over the area coming upon the stack of ruined papers. Staring at the mess for a moment, she got a strange look in her eyes. Her pupils became dilated and her eyes wildly sightless. At the same moment an unusual brilliant breath-taking white light encased the papers, returning them to their original state of being.

**Author's Notes**: The White Rose was one of many youth resistance groups formed in Germany at the height of the Second World War. It's main objective was to get people to resist the Third Reich and its dictatorial powers that stole rights from the average citizen and restore the older government.

The White Rose - [http://www.jlrweb.com/whiterose/]


	13. Searching

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 11**

Gently stroking a hand over his twin's face, Jeremiah sighed. At least his brother's fever had gone down somewhat. The chi transfer had worked. He could have taken down the fever entirely but didn't want to overdose on the chi.

He sat on the edge of his twin's bed, concertedly pressing a cool, damp rag to his brother's face. He stared neutrally into his twin's peaceful expression. He sighed, lost in thought, as his eyes remained riveted in place. 'He's innocent...so sweet. It's like before.' 

A thin wane smile quirked over his lips as he pressed the rag once more to his brother's face before dropping into the bowl, a series of ripples in circles around the slowly dampening rag. He didn't notice, his hand out of the bowl, touch his twin's warm face before he softly pressed his mouth against Séamus', gently pushing his brother's lips apart as he fed his twin chi.

He felt light-headed; he rarely did initiate such transfers frequently. The loss of chi hit him, making him dizzy yet it felt great. He couldn't explain it; not even to him self. 

Brushing a hand over his twin's flush face, he sighed softly. "Just like before, you've changed none, brother, just more beautiful than I remember. Though you're stronger, you're still likely to get sick; so stubbornly beautiful, Shun-chan."

There was a small twitch in the features of the resting twin; his nose twitched though it was irritated. It stopped briefly. A sigh escaped him. He seemed to be peacefully resting but in actuality he was awake, hearing his twin's word, but gave no hint of it.

A small mirthful chuckle came from Jeremiah. 'He's not awake and still can be kinda funny in a cute way. I wonder...' he mused, watching his twin, who he believed was sleeping, with a strange close intent.

He then brushed his lips over the nose of the resting one. Once more, Séamus' nose twitched at the touch. This time he murmured a partially incoherent phrase, "stop...lemme sleep..."

"He's awake. How're you feeling, brother?!" Jeremiah whispered, his face next to his brother's. He pressed a cool cheek against his twin's feverishly warm one. "Any better or like total shit?!" He didn't speak seriously, there was after all, no need for it. He didn't want to nor feel like depressing his brother. He wished to extract any type of laugh, or at least witness a wane smile crack across those lips.

"Why ask?! You know what the bloody answer's gonna be." Séamus growled, though a weak smile quirk over his features.

"I knew it would be that, I had to ask anyways. Besides, it made you smile..." Jeremiah pointed out (un)helpfully. 

"Hn...like I give a flying rat's ass." Séamus muttered, his eyes meeting his brother's. "I didn't need it. What I need is sleep, ain't gettin' much now..."

"Aw, my poor dear brother..."

"Oh shut-up you!"

"You're still real cranky aren't you?!"

"No shit, Sherlock!"

"Need anything to drink, something to make it go away?!" Jeremiah queried, breaking the topic. He lightly brushed a hand over his brother's flush face.

"I need the Father to have my last rites 'cause I feel like I kinda wanna and gonna die." Séamus groused. He didn't want to say so, but in reality he was feeling better. He didn't know why. Whenever an ailment afflicted him, he never felt this well after just a night's rest. 

He blinked in perplexity, gazing at Jeremiah. "What did ya give me anyway?!"

"I....I used chi..." He replied quietly, not knowing how Séamus would likely react, or even know what it was.

"Chi?! Transference?!" The younger pressed. "Like before..."

Jeremiah blinked, a realisation dawning suddenly on his conscious. "You...remember?! You honestly remember that much, brother?! So...it didn't shock you..."

"No, it's okay, Aniki. I liked it when you did it, it took away the hurt." His response was a low, gratefully whisper. Séamus touched a shaky weak hand to his brother's face. "It's okay, it wouldn't have."

"I'm glad, brother. Now be honest, how're you really feeling?!"  
  
"Li'l better."  
  
"Want soup or something to drink to at least get something in your stomach?!" It was less of a question than an order.

He sheepishly grinned. "I don't have much choice do I?!"  
  
"Not really, but c'mon, it'll make you feel better."

"If you say so."

"I do say so!"

"You're starting to abuse your spot as the older one, I hope you know that." Séamus pointed out. 

"I know, and I love it!" Jeremiah stood up, smirking. He then slithered from the room, stopping to wink at his brother before disappearing from the entrance to the small, cramped quarters.

~~~~

Standing, his ice blue eyes riveted to a map from France on the layout of the area around Dunkirk, Captain JC Andreas sighed, frustrated. According to military snitches, the security in the area was near impenetrable at almost all times of day except at the darkest hour before the break of dawn.

He studied the statistics from the last failed mission. He placed a peg in where the last attack was launched from making a strategic note that said point would be dangerous to penetrate. He shifted some other items around based on information he received. He needed this military operation to be successful.

His eyes drifted, landing on another piece of paper. It had been attached to what had been reported to be a carrier pigeon. The scouts in the area had picked it up and brought it to him, saying it might be useful because it was from one of the POWs under the command of Lieutenant Van Eyke. 

He had the name of the in-command officer. It was certainly helpful. He had dismissed his scouts with orders to acquire information on the lieutenant and more on the girl who had sent the message via carrier pigeon. He also requested information on the resistance that was growing in that area.

The scout objected. "But sir, there isn't any evidence as such!"  
  
"Silence! I don't want any more dead-end evidence! I want to know more about Ms Beauregard. Surely you jest you maladroit harlequin! How can you say there isn't one? Clearly by her letter, there is! Now, use your skills and stop fucking up!" 

"Ye-yes sir!" The scout shook. The blonde captain was certainly frightening. The man had an air of confidence and arrogance that made him imposing as well as scary. The scout pitied the soldiers that were under this man's command. "I-I'll see right to it!"  
  
He ran off, terrified of any repercussions if he lurked around the area any more.

Snorting scornfully, Captain Andreas turned back to his collected data.

"You certainly were harsh on the boy, wouldn't you says, Andreas?!" Smirk Captain Stonewall. The chocolate brown haired man stood against the doorframe before sauntering in gracefully. "The best way to get what you want isn't to scare the hell out of these messengers you've sent but perhaps, try a foreign concepts of...oh, let's say, politeness?!"

Captain Andreas looked up, growling. How he loathed it when these man was sarcastic and made such remarks. "If you can think of a better way of doing this, then why don't you enlighten me, since you think you could obviously do a better job!"

"For one thing, I suggest we forgo using the military's resources and draft the reprobates from the IRA. They might actually be useful for something. A plus on using tem for this operation would be that they can fight dirty."

Captain Andreas hummed thoughtfully, musing on what was being suggested. "You know, as much as I don't want to follow any of your suggestions, you might be on to something there. It would be a waste to use valuable resources for a mission. They could serve well in holding the post if and when we do secure it for our interests."

"Also, I'd hate to interfere with your genius military strategy, but perhaps, you shouldn't plan this alone. After all, that is what leads to flaws and operations that are Swiss cheese in nature."

"You want in on this?!"

"It'll provide me with a chance to do something other than train a bunch of whiney country boys who just want to go cryin' to their mamas."

"Underneath that polite, proper exterior is a cruel drill sergeant." The blonde captain smirked knowingly. His lips were quirked, twisted. He spoke with a knowing, snide tone, as he regarded the other captain.

"Polite or not, it isn't the way on the battlefield. It's a war out there and if you can't take a bit of training, then you ought to be shipped to the factories to work long side them women, sewing up parachutes and uniforms." The regal mannered captain replied coldly.

"I'm starting to like your style even if I say you shouldn't have been born. At least you know military strategy. You're quick. Perhaps we could pool our efforts together, make something magnificent out of this small, petty campaign."

"It would be nice to regain Nazi claimed land and push them nationalists back behind their boarder and seal them in where they belong. They're about as bad as those Bolsheviks! Sad part is, we're allied with no lesser of two evils. Before we appeased the Nazis and isolated the Soviets, now we're doing the opposite. I wish there were a way to cleanse the world of both the Bolsheviks and Nazis."

"We could start by pushing those damn Nazis out of Dunkirk. If this operation is successful, then we should take a large number of troops and push inward. The Americans that have come over, not those under my command, but others, haven't done much, except training. They've been useless."  
  
"Why not give them a taste of war? We could use them to back up the IRA degenerates. It'll make a good combat crew. If we mix military trained men with men with street intelligence, perhaps we could develop our own form of '_Blitzkrieg_', give the Nazis a taste of their own poisonous medicine and drive them back."

Captain Andreas nodded, considering the proposition. Despite his loath for this man, the man did have a good head that was certainly strapped on right. He had to admire the man for that. He certainly had a good range of knowledge. He smiled strangely. "Sounds plausible, I'll admit, very strategic. It would no doubt catch the patrolling nationalists off-guard, create chaos amongst their ranks."

He paused, picking up some information. "Take a glance over this. It's a brief over view of the company that's occupying the base I want to reclaim. They're fairly organised and fall under the command of one Lieutenant Van Eyke. From what information as been gathered, it seems this man isn't asleep on the job, he's alert. They also hold POWs."

Taking the papers, Captain Stonewall gave them a cursory glance over. "It seems they are quite organised." He nodded. "I don't supposed you noticed this." He turned the page over. "The scout you had sent, seems to think this man has some sort of illusionary powers. Indications point towards such. His observations state that he saw this through a window."

"Illusions." Captain Andreas stated simply. "There was only one I knew that had such powers. Ruo Chuin, better known as Tomo."


	14. Another Past Opened

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 12**

~~

Sighing, Chelsea stretched out her tired fingers, trying to avoid cracking her knuckles, for it would be very unladylike of her if she were to. She still heard her mother's voice echoing in her brain, telling her to be dainty, not to do anything masculine for it would scare the guys around her and her potential for acquiring a suitable escort and suitor for marriage would be severely impeded by her lack of femininity. She also sat properly. That is with her ankle crossed and her skirt falling just short of touching her ankle, about mid-way between her knees and ankles, neatly pressed. Her blouse fell softly against her gentle flowing hourglass figure, which he mother stressed was important. It would accentuate Chelsea's delicate features, watering down her intimidating level of intelligence. 

The young secretary scowled in resentment at the last thought. She always hated the way her sweet naïve yet orthodox mother would push on her ideals that oppressed females, making them docile slaves to men, nothing more than eye candy and sex toys, with the sole purpose of breeding and slaving vainly behind the stove for no reward.

Her job, her career of choice, she knew, would likely push all prospective suitors away, simply because she was what was known as a self-made women who wouldn't need a guy. In other words, simply put, a spinster, someone who should sit behind a desk, typing diligently away at the type writer, not doing anything else, stuck in a dead-end job because she was too stubborn to accept her place in society. She hated the fact that there wasn't room for her to climb as the most incompetent, maladroit harlequins grasped positions they were unworthy of; jobs she could do in the blink of an eye. But because she was a woman, she was seen as the weak, incompetent one, unable to handle a man's job.

Sighing, she resigned to continuing the monotony of her job. At least she had one and she was in demand. She also was aware of the fact that it was simply because the men were off fighting yet another war and women were the next available resource the country had to keep the economy functioning. Also, to prevent it from falling into a recession and having to suffer the throes of yet another depression. They had just finish the one of the thirties. They hadn't been as badly affected as the Americans, whom had been hit the hardest by the Great Depression.

Diligently typing up a document for the general, she glanced up from the page at the oncoming sound of footsteps that approached her desk from the long, narrow corridor leading up to the strategy rooms and the general's opulent office. She didn't at first recognise the approaching man, but when he came into view, she noted him to be one of the badly whipped scouts that worked under the command of the merciless captain.

Warmly she smiled, as she ought to not because she simply felt like it. She greeted him with a statement of welcoming. "Hello, Captain Andreas is in a meeting now sir, is there anything I can help you with? I could always hand your document to him when he's done, sir."

'Jackass!' She thought, eyeing him with utmost resent. She couldn't stand the scouts that had been hired to be at the disposal of Captain Andreas. She didn't mind the commanding officer; he didn't go anywhere near her unless it was to give her work. Work was a relief from the sexist remarks and the chauvinist attitudes all because she simply decided she didn't want to hold a stereotypical role in society doing so-called, colourfully dubbed: _women's work_.

"Oh, he isn't out of the meeting at the time?" The scout appeared despondent by that. Here he had such great information he had acquired and he couldn't even go thrust it into the grapevine and make waves. 

He sighed resignedly, not liking this. He turned to face the young woman. He didn't like the concept of women working. They were only there to serve men and meant to be behind the stove, raising children, not doing this. He furthermore didn't trust her not to bumble up the information he had. It was organised in the most effective way and he didn't trust her not to do anything to wreck it.

He spoke in the most impolite manner, with pre-eminent sarcasm. "Can I at least know when he's going to be done or is that confidential information?!" 

"If you are going to talk to me like that, sir, then I won't be of any service. Perhaps if you had asked politely, I would have provided the necessary information." Chelsea retorted with a firm tone, not raising her voice. It wouldn't have been ladylike of her if she had. As she spoke, in the back of her mind, she could hear her mother chiding her for being crude towards a man. She could hear the echoing nagging, forcing her to be submissive and the little perfect lady in the office place.

"Look here lady, skip on this and just tell me where the hell I can find him! It's fucking important and I don't trust you not to fuck it up."  
  
"Since you've degraded yourself in your vocabulary sir, I feel no desire to accommodate your needs at this time."

"Look here, I'm here on--"

"I don't care, now kindly leave the papers for Captain Andreas and show yourself to the door before I call the MPs in to escort you out."  
  
Chelsea stood up, holding the radio microphone in hand. "I have given you your warning, now you have ten seconds to leave the papers on the desk and leave unless you're going to be patient and not be needlessly rude toward me."

The scout cursed her out in a mutter before thrusting the papers down on her desk and briskly strutting out. Glancing back, he stated. "If not for the war, you'd be where you belong behind the damn stove like a good little bitch."

"Get out now, sir!" Her voice climbed an octave and her green eyes flared. On her foot, hidden by the desk but not by her sheer stockings, a red character flared to life on her foot. Confidence had been built up in her. 

Her eyes narrowed. "I needn't tell you that you should leave now?! If you don't you certainly won't have your chance to speak with Captain Andreas."

Her heightened defences raised the level of her chi. It drew someone out of the conference room. It wasn't the blonde captain, but rather his ally, Captain Stonewall. The regal man strolled over, placing a hand on Chelsea's shoulder. "Have a seat Miss Chelsea, I'll see that this bothersome gentleman is escorted out."  
  
"Thank you, sir."

Captain Stonewall turned to face the scout. "You didn't have to be rude to her, she's doing her job, not seeking confrontation. I may have been in meeting, but I was merely observing, I heard the way you spoke with her. It was most rude and unacceptable. Now, you have the choice to leave or I will kill you."

Beneath the concealing high-collar of his jacket, a red character came to life. It didn't show, but to the young lady, she could sense the calm man's anger with the scout. She remembered vaguely a chi matching his. It belonged to a man who had ruled a peaceful country that sought to avoid war with neighbouring Kutou. 

She sighed. 'Hotohori-sama.'

Once the scout had vanished, the captained turned to face the young lady. "Your chi, it's exceptional. I don't know why, but I've never felt it touch my so sharply before. Andreas surely noticed as well." He paused for a moment. "Forgive my personal intrusive question, but do you by chance have a character like this on your body." He pulled his collar down, revealing the slowing character of star on his next.

"So...I would be right in calling you Hotohori-sama, right sir?" Chelsea asked reluctantly, her gaze at the ground. A small meek blush crept over her cheeks as she spoke. She didn't know if she would be right or not, she feared repercussions for any overly conclusive statements she might make.

He nodded. "You're not off at all, you're quite right, Miss Chelsea." He smiled warmly, he friendly eyes glinting with the familiar warm spark she was used to seeing, especially when she had first been introduced to the emperor as Chiriko in her past life.

She didn't have a chance to speak before the captain spoke more. "Miss Chelsea, you do seem to know who I am, perhaps I could know who you were. I recognise your chi as being one of the Suzaku, but I was far too inclined on getting that man to depart that I failed to read yours correctly."

"Chiriko, sir."

"Our Chiriko, the young genius?" The captain brushed a hand over the young lady's face, memorising her facial details. "You're still just as youthful in your looks. I gather you discovered the strength of your intelligence at a young age, especially since you are working for such a high-ranking military man."

"Yes sir, I did. My mother felt intimidated by it, saying I ought to be meek and act 'properly' around men so that I shan't scare them with my intellect. She fears it would have impeded on my chances of getting a husband and that it would crush my femininity, making me into something of a masculine caricature." Chelsea scornfully remarked, though not intending to speak ill of her mother but rather of her situation, thoughts and beliefs.

She sighed. "I do love my mother dearly, I just think she lives too much in the nineteenth century though."

"Many do fear the changing times, especially now during the war where we have women doing what only men used to before. I don't mind; it's certainly refreshing. I find women are more efficient in some fields, making up for what was lacked." He brushed a soft thumb over her delicate, silky skin.

"Your words are most kind, sir." She flushed moderately at his statement.

"No, they are simply true." He replied. He then promptly changed the thread of thought with an opening question. "Would you be interested in helping with some strategic military planning. I remember you having quite the sharp mind for planning the route to Hokkan. We could use your valuable resource.

"Also, you made mention of a gentleman by the name of Brennan Mackenzie in the same phrase that you had mentioned something of the IRA. Before I bring you into the room, I need to know what the relation between this gentleman and the IRA is.

"Perhaps, if you can, try and think of other names related to him and that...militant group of unscrupulous rebels."

"Brennan Mackenzie is an IRA fighter. He happens to be the young man courting me, or so he says. He claims to, but it isn't the case. But in either case, there is another young man by the name of Séamus Kennedy who also has connections with the IRA. He isn't actually a fighter; he's more of an assassin. Both though are excellent fighters." Chelsea smiled sweetly as she spoke. 

"Also, so you're not shocked, sir. Brennan is likely Tasuki. I don't know which twin Séamus would be; it's difficult to tell. So you know, you'd be getting a Suzaku and a Seiryuu to help with the campaign."  
  
"Tasuki." A thin, amused smile crept over his lips. "He's always a fighter, no matter what time and age he's in."

**Author's Notes**: There is still more to come. I think it'll be quite a few chapters before an ending lurks on the horizon, so you don't have to be disappointed about this piece ending too early. 

I think now I should make some notes or at least give a cast listing for you people now. You've made it this far, and as you can likely tell, I'm not going to be adding new characters after this point. So, it's now my rightful duty to present to you the cast listing, which shall hopefully give you an idea of who's who. It's broken down into groups. I hope everyone isn't disappointed. Some of the characters listed, haven't made a direct appearance yet or haven't at all and come in in later chapters.

**CAST OF CHARACTERS**

**Allies**

Nakago - Captain JC Andreas

Hotohori - Captain Russell Stonewall

Amiboshi - Jeremiah Dallas (ex-private)

Chiriko - Chelsea Llwellyn (secretary)

Mitsukake - General Dwight Marshall

Chichiri - Marcus Faulkner (monk/war veteran)

**IRA**

Suboshi - Séamus Kennedy (assassin)

Tasuki - Brennan Mackenzie

**POWs/Résistance**

Soi - Aimée Beauregard

Nuriko - Angelique St Pierre

Tomite - Achan Stern (Jewish boy)

Iname - Arielle Stern (Jewish girl)

**Germans**

Tomo - Lieutenant Johan Van Eyke

Ashitare - Aaron Schnip (Gestapo officer)

Miboshi - Wherther Yorck (German spy)

Hikitsu - Albrecht Kepler (SS Officer)

**White Rose**

Subaru - Elisabet Schuldich

Tokaki - Theodor Dietrich

Tatara - Nickolaus Wendell


	15. Wonderful Surprise and Morbid Shock

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 13**

Having received more than adequate details for their mission gathering and detail acquisition, the scouting team, minus the gentleman whom had been oust for his lack of proper conduct and comport. The remaining set out, searching for the mention young man. They had only a description from the young, dashing, seductive secretary employed by the general. The description contained holes. They hated that, for she had willingly toyed with them simply because they had dared made a remark about how she was a girl. 

Now, with little more than just barely a name and a vague description, they scoured out the local area, checking bars, streets, the docks. They considered knocking on doors, but that failed after they were chased by more than a few irate housewives who wielded a dangerous weapon known as the broom.

Nearby, on a park bench, watching, observing these inept jesters attempt to accomplish, some random, pointless mission and getting clobbered in the process, a redheaded young man sat, mirth twinkling in his eyes at this. He hadn't heard what they were trying to vainly in all futility complete, but found it ever amusing that these morons certainly were incompetent in doing what they had to.

'Ye gads, these idiots are the perfect depiction of the village idiot. This is great; who needs Vaudeville or anything like that. Even Chaplain ain't this bloody amusing. These guys ought to be put on stage and laughed all the way to the boondocks!' The redhead thought. 

Controlling his laughter, he recovered, running his fingers through his hair. 'Enough of the antics, Mackenzie, you can't sit here enjoying the freak show, you've got to get your pathetic arse in gear and think of a way to win back Chelsea from the clutches of Kennedy who has that catty wench wrapped around his little pinkie. Damn him to hell. It just ain't fair! He does nothing and has the lassies falling all over themselves to get him. I work my ass off and for what, to watch this moron sweep my maiden off her feet!'

With conviction, after several minutes of inner ranting, Brennan stood up; dusting off his plain yet neatly pressed clothes. (He had purposely gone to see his Mama to have her press them so that he may create an excellent impression on the young maiden's who hand he sought). 

He didn't realise, but the group of men he was walking past, had been in search of him. He wasn't aware that soon, within the next minute he would be swarmed by these leeches, begging him to come along for the sake of an important mission that required the street fighting skills that IRA rebels possessed.

Calmly, he strolled by the gathering rank and file, only to have one of them intercept his path. "Brennan Mackenzie, I presume." The man's statement was more than quite bold. 

"What the fuck do you want?!" Brennan growled, starting to push past, but found that he was surrounded on all sides. That wasn't a good sign. His fists, at his sides, balled up, clenched tightly. His nails dug into the flesh of his palms, chewing, leaving small welts of frustration.

"We wish for you to accompany us, Mr Mackenzie. Captain Stonewall wishes your presence at a military briefing. He requires your skills."

"_My_ skills?! Okay, what is the truth?!"

"The truth is simply that Miss Llwellyn mentioned you and said you'd be a valuable asset." The scout replied quickly.

'Chelsea did?! This is an intriguing development. If she's giving my name at the army because I'm a good fighter, it must be that she thinks quite highly me!' Brennan mentally swooned, elation consuming him for a pregnant moment in his otherwise meaningless existence. 'I might have a chance with her...'

"Uh...Mr Mackenzie? Are you okay?" A second scout queried, noticing the unusually elate expression on the redhead's face.

Blinking himself back to reality, Brennan nodded. "Am quite so, mate."

"Then will you come with us, it would be helpful."

"Indubitably!"

The redheaded; the former Suzaku Seishi, Tasuki; phantom wolf, moved ahead of the scout congregation. He knew where the base was, after all, he had escorted Chelsea home from there a number of times. To him, today was another chance to see her, perhaps even convince her he was a courtship worthy of her fair hand.

~~~~

Looking up, studying the dull grey overcast sky, Yui sighed. The vessel she was boarded upon had docked in. The temperature was low, but not cold. She felt her hands slide up, rubbing her cool skin, trying to produce heat from the steady friction. She stood at the rail, leaning; her hands over her frigid arms.   
  
It was quite dull here, though there was a notable world of difference between here and Tokyo. It was warmer in Tokyo. Even the waters gave off warmer currents than this frigid water. It also seemed...dangerous. Her eyes took note of a pair of strange, foreign submarines with swastikas painted on the fin.

'German submarines? Are we in Germany?!' She wondered, until she turned her sights to a pair of young men dressed in American Army issued uniforms. She tilted her head sceptically. 'How odd. _Americans_ here?!' 

She wrinkled her nose distastefully as she thought of Americans. She loathed them, just as most countries did. After all, they were waging war on _her_ homeland. Why should she like them? They were nothing but bullies to the ideals of imperialism.

She cast a hateful glare at them as she left the boat. "_Koppa_." She turned her nose up, after her cerulean blue eyes met two eager pairs belonging to the pair of American soldiers. 

* Worthless person

They each arched a thin eyebrow and said nothing. 

The first then boldly approached her and bowed. "Good day, milady. How are you?" He said, taking her hand in his, kissing it. He didn't know that the language she spoke was Japanese, he believed it was French.

Yui cast a disgusted glance at the man. "_Kisama_. _Koppa gaijin_." She didn't bother to make use of her English skills. Instead, she remained in her mother tongue as she pulled her hand away from the soldier's grasp. Snorting, she added, "_watashi_ _kirai desu onare, koppa Amerikan_."

* Bastard. Worthless outsiders. I hate you, worthless American.

The man blinked, confused until he felt his friend tap him on the shoulder and whisper, "don't bother, it seems she Japanese and doesn't like Americans. Listen carefully, it's Japanese she's speaking and not any other language."  
  
The man blinked again. "But why is she blonde?! Aren't they all like those interned assholes back home?!" He seemed confused. "She looks western."

"Hn, maybe she's just having a bad day."

"PMS."  
  
"Yep."

"So, you going to try again, Jones?!"  
  
"Why don't you, Macfarlan." 

"Fine! I'll show you how it's done." The one known as Lance Corporeal Macfarlan replied, strutting up to the blonde girl. He was intending to show his friend, Lance Corporeal Jones how the wooing process was properly done.

Stripping his jacket off, he stopped, placing it over a puddle. "Madam may cross the puddle without getting her feet wet." He stated, bowing, gesturing elaborately, as he waited for her to cross.

"Hn. _Baka_." Yui growled, setting her foot down heavily on the jacket, thrusting it down into the puddle. She tossed her shoulder length hair over her shoulder and walked away.

Jones smirked. "And you were saying, Macfarlan?!"

"Stuck-up bitch." Macfarlan snarled watching her wander off. "Why the fuck so the foxy ladies have to be so arrogant?! She didn't even have the decency to even say thanks."

"I would, but I hate Americans." Yui turned back, speaking in English for the first time. Her words were graced by her obvious Japanese accent. She then pivoted and wandered off.

Shoving her hands in the front of her kimono, she wandered down the streets of the foreign city. She stopped a few blocks down, unsure as to where to go or what to do. She made a mental note to stay on main streets, after all, alleyways were a good place that were guaranteed to get a girl in trouble.

A thin, shocked gasp escaped her as she caught sight of a familiar looking blonde man. His air and mannerisms sent chills down her spin. She didn't want him to see her at any costs. Moving against a building, she hid under the drooping plant life until she was certain he had past.

A realisation then dawned on her. She sighed thankfully as the thought crossed her mind. It was relieving. 'If Nakago's reincarnated then that means that out there somewhere there's Suboshi!' 

Her eager cerulean blue eyes scanned the vicinity, zealously searching for any signs of the boy that had been most and unquestionably loyal to her. She felt something in her heart flutter. She felt that there was a great chance that she would find him here. She had to, she desperately needed him. She could only pray that he remembered enough to want and remember her.

She gasped. "_Masaka_..." she couldn't believe her good fortune.

Gathering the skirt of her kimono in hand, she ran after the young man. Stopping behind him, she reached out a hand, grabbing him on the shoulder. "Excuse me, could you tell me what city this be." That was the best way to start off speaking to him.

Jeremiah turned at the touch of the hand to shoulder, to come face to face with an obviously foreign girl. He smiled. "yes, it's Dublin, miss."

"Dublin?!" Yui inclined her head, not knowing what the young man meant. "Could you tell me what country. I'm greatly confused, I see _American_ soldiers and German submarines, I don't know what to think."

"Oh, Ireland." He replied, clearing up her confusion. "And ignore the presence of those soldiers, they're here until the full scale attack against those Nazis is made. The submarines have been invited to the harbour by the IRA who despise the British government."

"Oh, okay!" Yui smiled after a minute. She then went on. "Pray tell, what's your name sir?!" She asked sweetly, batting her eyelashes at him. 

Jeremiah arched a sceptic eyebrow. "Jeremiah Dallas, ma'am." He then shrugged, taking her hand in his and kissing the top. "And you are, ma'am?"

A small blush crept over her cheeks. "Yui Hongou." She replied, remembering to reverse her name as per western culture.

"You're not from around here, are you?!" Jeremiah asked, noting her more than obviously foreign accent. "From whence do you call?"

"Tokyo." She rejoinder.

Jeremiah just nodded mutely. Waving he wandered on past. "Sorry, I'd love to talk more, but I'm direly required at the house, my brother is ill." 

"No, please, I beg of you, stay..." Yui reached out seizing his wrist. "Surely you remember, don't you?!" Her voice cracked.

"Remember what?!" He looked at her strangely. He hadn't any idea what this girl was talking about. All he knew was she was certainly bold and was an obvious foreigner who didn't like Americans. 

"You...don't?!" Her eyes were wide, her pupils shrank in size. A sinking feeling hit her stomach. She felt faint. Her face paled and she turned away, tears stinging her eyes. She turned and ran. Tears streamed down her face.

"Wait!" Jeremiah called, but sighed, watching her disappear. 'Odd lass.' 

He bit his lip, in thoughtful solitude, watching her run in fear and in utter distress at his likely stinging words of denial. 'She must know me, but I don't know her. I doubt Séamus knows anyone from Tokyo. He's told me he's never left Dublin....'

He took off after the distress lass, not because he wanted to but because he noted her direction led her to a dangerous alley known to be littered with lecherous men who pried on little girls. 

"WAIT!! Miss, don't go there!" Jeremiah called loudly, running after her, thankful she was in a skirt and couldn't move fast enough. Grabbing her wrist, he stopped her. "Don't go that way, it's too dangerous!"

Yui turned, gazing at him. 'Please, I wish you could remember Suboshi. It would mean the world to me if you did.' She sighed. "Uh...sorry." She gazed down sadly at the ground. 

"It's not your fault, you're new here." He smiled. "This way, I think you should stay in the main market area, less chance of you getting harmed." He led her away from the alley, into the market place.

'Is this your way of telling me you remember?!' With tear-filled eyes, Yui gazed into Jeremiah's. She sighed longingly. 'I wonder if he would remember if I did something to make him? Would he remember if there was a kiss?'

She didn't answer her question before confidently cupped her mouth over Jeremiah's after slipping her hand under his chin, bringing her mouth to his. She applied light pressure with the kiss, not wanting to make him feel cornered.

He could only stare in wide-eyed shock. Paralysis lanced his body, he couldn't move, he didn't know what to do, he could only stand, letting her have control.


	16. The Art of Espoinage and Extortion

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 14**

**Author's Notes**: I apologise in advance for making Tomo a nasty bastard, but my reasons are simply to assist in the advancement of the plot. Later on, it'll be explained why he does what he does in this part.

Dressed in simply just her lingerie, Aimée found solace in the small powder room where the women could go to freshen up. She her self hadn't the chance in a while, for she had been occupied with trying to get her documents back in order and keep an established line of contact with the White Rose, who were an excellent source for information. 

She now sat on the stool in front of a vanity mirror at the power room's boudoir, a soft, breathless sigh escaping her. Listlessly she fingered her limp, greasy hair. She hadn't the chance to properly wash it lately. It wasn't due to lack of time but more because she found that the hawkish gaze of Lieutenant Van Eyke followed her everywhere, making her feel uncomfortable with doing anything.

Sighing, she grasped her brush, she undid her loosely tumbling braid with her left hand, running her fingers through the long tresses. Once she had a large section over her shoulder, she grasped it, gently running the brush through waist length burgundy hair, ensuring she did ten strokes of the brush before moving to grasp the next part.

She had her eyes shut; thus she never noticed the figure that slipped into the power room, unseen. She never heard the click of the door as it was locked. She gasped once the lurking secretive figure touched a hand to her face.

"Primping up in front of the vanity mirror, you haven't change, have you, Soi? Still the painted trollop, are you?!" Lieutenant Van Eyke softly cackled, removing the brush from Aimée's grasp. "You won't be needing that, what you need is to listen."

"What? What do you want, Tomo?" She replied scathing, her greyish-blue eyes flaring haughtily with indignation as she stood up to her feet, scrambling away from him, feeling self-conscience. She held her arms over her bosom, for she was still merely attired in her lingerie and nothing more.

"I want you, but I'll cut you a fair deal." Lieutenant Van Eyke replied, cornering the young French woman. 

He cupped her chin in his slender hand. "You have two choices, either serve me as a proper mistress or your little group faces exposure. You will not resist simply because I'm giving you a chance to have fun with your own pathetic resistance, however, failure to co-operate with means several things."

" No! I won't let you get away with that, nor will I go along with it. I will not be your bed warmer! I'm no one's prostitute!" Aimée exclaimed, hatred and disgust dripping from her voice at the proposal uttered by the man.

"Being pigheaded. Somehow that fails to shock me." Lieutenant Van Eyke coolly remarked, cupping her chin in his grasp. His face was inches from hers. "Now, I'm giving you a chance to do as you please. I personally don't want to be at this place, nor am I allowed to let such dissent brew beneath my sights. I want to rise up and get rank, I can't allow this point to be insecure nor report any dissent. Now, I'm allowing you the chance to keep your little _résistance_ in exchange for what I have proposed."

"I don't care, nor do I give a damn if you get rank. I spit on the success of you and those evil nationalist!" Aimée spat angrily. "I don't care what you do, but I refuse to do what you want!"

"You're being quite irrational, mad I might add."

"I'm being rational. You're being frightfully indecent."

"You're being rational? If you were, you would have agreed and spared your comrades the displeasure of being converted to bed warmers."

"_Ce qui_??" Aimée stared aghast at the former Seiryuu Seishi, Tomo. "_Non_...._non_!" She shook her head forcefully. "I will **not** allow it!"

"You won't, so you therefore agree?" Lieutenant Van Eyke replied, smirking, his lips barely touching hers. "I knew you would see it my way, _Soi_. Don't worry, I'll leave you in tact for your precious _Nakago_. That is, if he's still your knight in shining armour, but he won't know your here. My spies are highly efficient and won't allow him to grasp any meaningful evidence he needs."

"Spies?!" Aimée swallowed reflexively too scared to move now that she felt his body pressing against her, his lips almost touching hers.

"Oh yes, very well trained. Especially my lead right man, Wherther Yorck." The German officer replied. "He's even located several people of interest to any former Seishi, such as Suzaku Seishi, Chichiri, Hotohori, Tasuki. He has been 'working' for your Nakago, who is nothing more than a pawn for the American army."

She sighed plaintively at the thought of Nakago. 'He's an ally! Oh, I knew he was always a good man. He'll be leading his own faction into France and other parts to free it!'

Before she had been able to reply, she was pushed against the wall, her mouth trapped by that of Lieutenant Van Eyke's. His kiss was fiercely aggressive. His free hand moved to slip under her loose fitting slip, to grasp the clasp of her brazier to cup her left breast. His hand gently squeezed, feeling it, touching before it slipped down her lithe form, tugging at the elastic band of her under panties.

Her greyish-blue eyes were wide with stunned shock. Cessation lanced her body in a jolt of fear. She couldn't move, she was too scared and shocked. She didn't know what to do; her eyes could only stare in utter disbelief at the man who held her in place. She yelped against his demanding mouth as she felt his hand grope; fondle her breast before trailing his hand down to brush over her female parts.

Tears of fear streamed her face and a shiver consumed her body. She didn't know what he would do to her. She was at her mercy and too scared to think straight and do anything.

Pressing his body against hers, he rubbed, thrusting his erection against her vagina, the fabric the only thing stopping him from any form of penetration into her narrow virginal passage. But it didn't inhibit his hand from grasping, caressing her vagina; a slender finger tracing around the entrance.

A thin, suffocated cry came from Aimée. She was powerless at the hands of this merciless man. She felt violated. She shut her eyes, her psyche invaded by images from her past life; the same feelings that she felt now; the same feelings of violation and fear as men exploited her for sexual favours.

"_Non...non... arrêt. Arrêtez-le maintenant..._" She pleaded, her voice cracking. She tried to pull away, barely any decent distance between hers and his mouth. "No more. Please, no. I agree, but please, don't push me like this any more...I'm scared...please...sir..."

* No, no, stop it...

"You are?!" Lieutenant Van Eyke replied almost mockingly. "Very well, then would you care to report to my quarters in thirty. Perhaps you can get comfy and not feel scared."

He pulled back. "So you do comply with the deal?!"

"_Oui monsieur_." She replied in a whisper, her eyes turn down.

"_Trés bien_." He purred, smirking. With that, he turned and left the room.

She shuddered.

She felt unclean.

She felt violated.

Fear constricted around her stomach, making her feel ill; sick. She felt paralysis from the constriction, unable to move.

Her throat felt tight, as he closed, making it hard for her to breathe. The closure created the illusion of suffocation. Her hand unconsciously rose to massage it, as she tried to digest the horror she had been exposed to. It frightened her to think that the man once known as Seiryuu Seishi, Tomo, could be so nasty and vindictive. She knew he could be cold, feelingless, calculating with an unmatching thirst for success. But this was a whole new side to him. Perhaps it was hidden or perhaps it was new. 

Shaking, she sank to the floor, breaking down into hysterical sobs. She couldn't do anything more, fear consumed every aspect of her being. 

~~~~

Secluded in the confinements of his room, the mysterious monk who possessed the ability to summon forth demons from the other realm held a radio communicator microphone in hand. A thin malicious smirk was over his lips as he, in his free hand held a quill, writing down instructions in hand as he received information from his base back in Germany.

He had finished relaying what bits he had discovered. "_Ja hat das Recht. Die amerikanische britische Koalition zwischen Kapitän Stonewall und Andreas ist unterwegs mit eben gezeichneten Männern vom IRA zum Dienen sie. Über_."

* Yes, that's right. The American British coalition between Captain Stonewall and Andreas is underway with newly drafted men from the IRA to serve them. Over.

He paused, taking a breath. 

"_Leutnant, würde es Sie interessieren, zu wissen, daß sie auch Training Militärkräfte aufwenden. Nachdem ich innen gehört habe, kann ich sicher sagen, daß sie auf dem Versuchen, ihre eigene Version von unserem Blitzkrieg zu erstellen planen_."

* Lieutenant, it would interest you to know that they are also using training military forces. After listening in, I can confidently say that they plan on trying to create their own version of our Blitzkrieg.

The lieutenant who had priory been in the powder chambers with Aimée was now back in his room, corresponding with his right man about recently gathered details as well as recounting older information that had been thoroughly confirmed with additional investigation.

He thinly smirked. "_Ausgezeichnet. Noch etwas? Irgendwelche weiteren Informationen über die Möglichkeit von irgendwie mehr Seishi?_"

* Excellent. Anything more? Any further information about the possibility of there being more Seishi? 

"_Ja. Es scheint, daß zwei der IRA-Aufrührer, die vom Fräulein Llwellyn erwähnt worden sind, ist einer jener Zwillinge, spezifisch das jüngere_." The agent replied. He kept a level voice through his response. He was strictly business.

* Yes. It seems that two of the IRA rebels that have been mentioned by Miss Llwellyn, is one of those twins, specifically the younger one. 

Agent Yorck shuffled the papers he had, searching for the extra documents he had lifted from the receptionist's desk. The papers had been left when another scout had been forcefully escorted out. The papers were quite useful. It documents the skills of various rebels that were to be hired into the mission.

He had chosen a segregated church to do his transmission of data from. It would provide him with a decent cover till the allies were to find out crucial battle information was being sent into the hands of the nationalists.

The agent himself didn't care for success or fame. He was merely in this profession because it meant a chance to screw over some weak people. He had no other reason. He didn't wish for the success of his nation, or for anyone else. He merely enjoyed in his ancient sadistic way the struggle that the simple creatures known as humans floundered through. 

His justification for returning such sensitive classified information to the nationalists was simply that he was working with a strong force. For it to be kept alive, it must continue to thrive off the source of the weakness.

He smirked. He had plans for this lieutenant once this battle information was returned to headquarters, he would kill the man. The man was of no use other than to serve as a medium between two points. Once that was done, the lieutenant would have no other purpose other than to die.

'When I say I kill I'm going to kill him, he has no option but to die.' Agent Yorck grinned most cruelly. He had full intentions to ensure that those who were weak would be used and thrown out like a snot rag. He had destroyed others like a Kleenex at a snot party. It was his utmost enjoyable pastime, aside from screwing over the allies.

'He doesn't need to know that they plan to move in on his base because he's going to be dead before then. All he has to know is that they are now using the IRA. He also knows that the Seiryuu and Suzaku Seishi are all in this world.'

He sighed. 'I could let them kill him, as he has almost outlived his practicality and usefulness, however, how do I know he'll transfer this back to headquarters. Perhaps if I give bait he'll turn it back over...'

Licking his bottom lip, he pressed the on button again. "Van Eyke, _es gibt etwas, das vom Interesse zu Ihnen ist. Die Verbündeten unter dem Befehl der Kapitäne Stonewall und Andreas planen, den Bearish um die französische Küste einzudringen. Der Ort der Landung ist diesmal unbekannt_."

* There is something that is of interest to you. The allies under the command of Captains Stonewall and Andreas plan to invade the area around the French coast. The place of landing is unknown at this time.

Agent Wherther Yorck paused in mid-sentence. He hadn't completed his transmission, but had to stop to contemplate the more direct approach for assuring that this useless lieutenant returned this information to home base before he was to be killed.

He added: "_Es ist am entscheidendsten, daß dieses zurück bald berichtet wird. Wenn nicht, wird Ihre Verwendungsfähigkeit im Tod gefolgert_."

* It's most crucial that this is reported back soon. If not, your usefulness will be concluded in death.

With that, he terminated the transmission.

Over on the other end, a thin growl of discontent came from Lieutenant Johan Van Eyke. He loathed this spy with the full of his essence and longed for this thing to be thoroughly exterminated. He hadn't liked Miboshi, past present or future. 

The man was too callous and detached from humanity. As far as the lieutenant was concerned, this agent was only good for gathering information and the task of infiltration and the list ended there.

'I will not let that thing get away with killing me, nor order me about as though I'm a mere minion of his. To hell with that, I'm not turning this back over. I'll protect the coast myself and get my much-deserved recognition for it!'

With that, he thrust the papers with the written report with a mighty burst of anger into the fire, watching the pages curls and blacken, becoming nothing more than ashen remains. He didn't need this agent any more. He had all he needed.

'Nakago is coming here. I can get something out of him. He was always very useful, though not much for taking direct physical action. He took too much pity on his victims. He was too human, his utmost failing.' Lieutenant Van Eyke rationalised, taking a nail file from the nightstand and filing his short nails.

Though he didn't keep them long like he had as Seiryuu Seishi, Tomo (or Ruo Chuin), he prided himself on having nicely manicured hands despite being a soldier in the military. He was utmost required to fight. If not for that, he'd have long, elegant nails and long flowing hair. 

He had to get along with the short chin length hair and short nails he had instead. Even though he appeared to be something of a shadow of his past self, he still bore an air of eloquence to his stride and bold flourishing arrogance. His persona remained on the same train tracks of long gone years. He wasn't a parallel reflection; he lived on, his legacy following him. 

His legacy, though known by only just the Seishi, didn't leave him upon death or reincarnation; it trailed loyally behind him. Lieutenant Van Eyke knew he hadn't been favourable as a person around the other Seishi and oft regarded as the cold manipulative one. He admired the title he earned himself.

Placing the nail file on the table, he stripped off his jacket, his sights out the window, staring out into the night sky. His eyes rested on the gently rolling waves, as the water lapped over the beach. The beach was quite a distance away, but it was within sight. 

He shut his eyes, listening. The sound of the wind on the ocean and the water was most soothing. He sighed. 'Just like Seiryuu....'


	17. Of Warriors and Pacifists

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 15**

Morosely sitting on the edge of his brother's bed, Jeremiah sighed. He really was starting to hate girls in general. They were either very forward or very cold and nasty. There wasn't a happy medium that satisfied him. He didn't like not knowing anything about them. They were such mysterious creatures that worked in such odd ways.

He shuddered, remembering the feel of that girl's lips on his. She tasted bittersweet. She seemed to know him. She claimed that by kissing him it would help him remember. He seriously doubted it. That and that his brother would have ever associated with such a girl. His twin seemed to more like Chelsea than any other girl and that at, just as a friend.

With his deep blue eyes fixated on his brother's sleeping form, he smiled wanly, forcing himself to forget about the promiscuous actions of that foreign girl. She was amoral, no scruples holding her back from performing such actions. His brother looked so peaceful in sleep, he could tell the medication was working.

Lifting a hand, he brushed it over the warm, flush cheek of his twin. 'We have nothing really, just each other. How ironic, we're given a second chance and yet, we're near reliving the same life over. I guess the cliché of _history repeats itself_ holds true.'

His brow furrowed in thought as he studied his brother. 'Would he truly know her? There has to be a reason behind why she would have done such amoral actions that are in violation of all things modest. Then again, she is a foreigner without religion, so to expect her to hold such high standards of morals would be asking _far too_ much.' He thought bitterly.

Stirring, Séamus rolled over, moaning plaintively at the sweet touch of the hand on his face. He brought his own hand up to clutch that hand. In his hazy state, he murmured, "Jeremiah?!"

"Yes, Séamus?!" The elder of the pair asked, thankful to the Lord for the bare fact that his twin wasn't moaning in pain or overly and ungodly feverish. "How're you feeling? Does your head hurt, what of the rest of you?!"

"Hn…better." Séamus shrugged, struggling to sit up. After accomplishing such, he leaned against his twin sighing. Peering up, he offered a wane smile. "How long have you been sitting there anyways?!"

"A few good hours. Contemplating why I hate women so much." Jeremiah whispered, wrapping his arms around his twin's body. He nestled his face into his twin's sweet scented hair, inhaling deeply.

"Really and why?!" Séamus queried, snuggling into the war arms that embraced him. He rested his hands on his twin's, feeling content.

"The Lord lost the instruction manual on them many aeons ago. Now it's coming back to bite us on the arse. It bloody hurts. Not to mention women are nothing but one puzzle with no solution." Jeremiah groused. He grinned thinly. "At least I know the solution to the puzzle known as my twin…"

"Get your mind back on Assiah! Pull it from Sheol!" Séamus chuckled at his twin's remarks and comments. He was feeling slightly better, but not the best he could be. His twin's comforting presence and voice more than compensated for such a shortcoming.

"I'm quite sorry about that. But that frightful encounter with that scrupulous shrew earlier has left my mind elsewhere." Jeremiah kissed his twin's neck lightly.

"What dame do you speak of?" Séamus purred.

"Some Japanese wench without morals or anything. Shamelessly she walks up to me and acts most promiscuously! She even kissed me claiming it would restore my memories because I didn't know her."

Séamus snickered. "Poor Jeremiah is popular with the girls. What's wrong with it anyway? There is a war and many of them are getting desperate as there are few left, the crop's getting bare for them."

"Dork, it isn't that. I don't mind the ones here, they have morals and decency. This one didn't." Jeremiah groused bitterly.

"Well, most foreign devils do, brother dear. It's most normal, especially for those deprived of catechumen. It's most shameful for they haven't respect, morals or values." Séamus echoed most of his twin's bitter sentiments.

He stretched back. "I do feel moderately under the weather, but fresh air will clear my head. Mind helping me up, I would like to go out to breathe fresh air instead of this stuffy air in here."

"Yes." Jeremiah replied, standing up. He then held out a hand for his twin to take. "You go freshen up at the basin. Do you need any help?!"  
  
"No, but thanks for the offer." Séamus nodded, accepting his twin's help. Once up, he held a hand on the nightstand next to his table before he felt strong on his feet. Once assured that he wouldn't succumb to his own weakness, he pressed forward, headed for where the wash-up basin was.

Jeremiah watched his twin in concern. "Are you really okay?! Are you sure you don't need help, you seem shaky…" Instead of waiting, he moved, grasping his twin's shoulders. "It's okay to not be completely recovered."

"Eh…thanks, brother." Séamus smiled warmly at his twin. 

A moment later, feeling slightly more human, he moved away from his twin in order to dress. The cold water had knocked him back to his senses in a marginal way. He felt well enough to at least go out and walk around.

Dressed decently, Séamus nodded at his brother. "Come, let's get some fresh air. The air is stuffy in here."

Grabbing his and his twin's coat, Jeremiah led them out the door. Shutting it firmly behind him, he grinned at his twin. "it must be nice to inhale fresh air."

He didn't reply, just inhaled deeply, letting the air penetrate deeply into his lungs. It was deeply refreshing.

"So, what's say we find ourselves something to keep our hands from idleness." Jeremiah suggested, linking an arm around his brother's shoulders.

"And how would we do that?!" Séamus queried, eyeing his twin sceptically. Sometimes ideas were a worst solution than that of the problem itself.

"Well, it's a big city, there ought to be something. Perhaps we could make ourselves useful and work building ammunition or something." Jeremiah shrugged demurely. He would be out of his mind if he even dared to suggest that they join up. He had left in the first place, not wishing to fight in the war. It brought back the reoccurring bitter memories of the past that left a scar on his soul. He longed to forget, but a trigger cell in his mind refused to let him, the chemical connection wanted him to feel the pain of his errors.

"No way, mate, sounds like nothing short of a chance to help the Brits and Lord help us if we shall. I don't quite feel I ought to, they have done nothing but make us feel insignificant and worthless with their supposedly 'superior' weapons and intelligence. They are nothing but a gaggle of self-serving wankers." Séamus nodded firmly. "Now let's just see if there is something to do, not involving the war in any shape."

"Oh, and what might you suggest?"

"Perhaps going to a pub and see the locals and grab a drink!"  
  
"I do not want to get soused out of my mind."  
  
"Never did I say that."  
  
"But you know it's implied by your idea."

"Maybe so…"

They had been walking as they spoke. By foot the pair had obtained a good distance from the house, leaving them with a chance to wander about in search of something to keep them occupied.

They hadn't the vaguest notion that something would give them something to keep them occupied for the moment being.

At that instance, from down the gravel-strewn street of the open bustling market place, strolled over a dignified man. He wore traditional military wear of the ceremonial sort. On his hip he wore a scabbard, the handle of an elegantly crafted blade bouncing against his side.

His feet gracefully kicked the gravel as he walked. His feet were covered with shiny, immaculate boots, tied perfectly. The shine was resilient, indicating that perchance he had stopped to see a shoe shine boy on his journey into the city.

His head was adorned with a simple cap that had been provided with the attire. From beneath peaked pristinely cut chocolate brown hair. The hair framed his long, slender face, giving his features a soft touch.

His grey eyes came to rest on the twins at the other end. They were the two he had come in search of. He needed to speak with them and required their service to help with the mission his blonde counterpart had concocted.

He hastened his pace, stopping curtly in front of the twins. He didn't know which one it was that Chelsea had stated was a skilled fighter with the IRA. He would have to find out through conversation with the pair, which boy it was he was seeking out.

He gave a bow of the head. "Forgive me for intercepting you, but I'm looking for Séamus Kennedy."  
  
"That's me. Who the bloody hell are you and what's it you want, wanker?!" Séamus regarded the man sceptically. The man was a Briton and not to be trusted.

"I'm Captain Russell Stonewall of His Majesty's Armed Guard. I had been given your name, by Miss Chelsea Llwellyn she mentioned you as being an excellent fighter. I am hoping that I can use your services in a reconnaissance." Captain Stonewall explained, his voice warm.

"You expect me to help you bloody Brits?! Are you madder than a hatter?! Surely you jest, I don't help those who trample over my kin." Séamus replied curtly, folding his arms.

Jeremiah had been watching the start of the exchange in silence. He had noted something unique about the captain. At first, couldn't place it, but after listening, he shortly realised that this was one of the Suzaku Shichisei.

"Hotohori-sama…" He whispered under his breath, staring at the man.

Captain Stonewall blinked, staring between the twins. He had been about to reply to Séamus' probe, when his ears registered a soft whisper from the other twin. It caught his attention because it was a name from his past.

After a moment, he noted that it was likely that Séamus was Suboshi and the other one, the unnamed twin was Amiboshi. He wasn't surprised, the younger one had been quite hostile in the past. "You're Amiboshi, right?!"  
  
"Yes, Hotohori-sama."  
  
"Please, it's Russell, or if you're part of His Majesty's Armed Guard, it's Captain Stonewall."

"Yes sir."

Captain Stonewall smiled warmly at the young lad. "Your name."  
  
"Jeremiah Dallas, sir." Jeremiah replied, smartly saluting the captain without realising what he was doing until he had. He meekly lowered his hand. "Sorry, sir, force of habit."

"Jeremiah… You sound American." Captain Stonewall noted. "You also act like you were once in the army. You might be useful as well. I'm sure JC won't mind me bringing another young lad to help with the mission."

"But I never did agree!" Séamus smirked nastily.

"Suboshi, you can either keep past hostilities or come into the present and work with the true allies of the war who seek peace and not imperialistic dominance." Captain Stonewall replied calmly.

"Yea, I could help, but I vowed to keep my arse in one piece and I'm bloody damn well going to!"

"You wouldn't be on the front, it would be a backdoor infiltration to free up Dunkirk."

Séamus blinked and shrugged.

Jeremiah shook his head. "I'm sorry sir, both of us wish not to join in the war. That's why I left Captain Andreas' company. I didn't want to die by the hand of a faceless enemy."

"If you joined up for this one reconnaissance, you would be with my company. I don't send my men out foolishly. I already felt the loss with a defeat at Dunkirk. I'm taking a mission back there in order to take back the land I lost in the name of those who died trying to free it." Captain Stonewall replied, not mentioning that the other involved in this was the captain that Jeremiah didn't wish to be allied with.

He inhaled thoughtfully. "It would be very excellent if you two could possibly join our forces. It would break up apart of the Nationalist stronghold along the coastal region of France. It gives us another chance to push past lines and break their forces, bringing the strength of fate back into our favour." He had one probe he could use that would get Jeremiah to tag along. "You can't get peace without a bit of fighting."

"You're saying that in order to gain peace we have to fight?!" Jeremiah whispered, hesitant to comply.

"It's a given." Captain Stonewall nodded firmly. He was going to get the cadets - hook, line, and sinker. "Can I count on you both?"

"Yes sir!" Jeremiah spoke for him and his brother.

Séamus was less than thrilled. Contrary, he refused to let his twin go when he had just found him again. If his twin was going to risk everything to die on the battlefield, then so would he.

~~

**Author's Notes**: Sorry it took me a long time to get this chapter out. I hit a bit of a block, but at least it's out. I hope to have chapter 16 done by the end of April. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewed so far. I hope that you all continue to. Thanks for your support thus far.


	18. The Isolation in a Nutshell

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 16**

The conditions were putrid, disgusting, and beyond what was considered to be inhumane. Illness ran rampant, tuberculosis, typhoid and other body crippling ailments that only further weakened the despondent souls, who bravely sought to protect their kin against the common enemy that declared them the enemy in order to rob them of their basic human rights. 

They had been reduced to a race of people who were hated through propaganda brought on and sponsored by the Propaganda Minister Joseph Goebbels. Bitter memories of the anti-Semitic slurs that made their daily appearance in newspapers, on posters, the movies and radio addresses by Nazi leader, Hitler and top classroom officials.

It accumulated, including a series of decrees written up in Nuremberg in the year of 1935, issuing severe impediments on the rights of the Jewry, who considered themselves to be German and only Jewish by religion. They found themselves gradually getting more and more isolated, as their rights were stripped from them, their jobs robbed from them and their livelihood openly threatened.

Their lives were left in shambles as their places of worship were brutally and savagely burnt to the ground and their shops and business smashed by anti-Semites. The anti-Semites had been misguided and brainwashed by mind-altering propaganda that seemed to provide an answer to the never-ending depression that consumed their lives since the signing of the Treaty of Versailles.

The Jewry, at the end of it all, found themselves confined to the restricted ghettos, if they were lucky. The less fortunate were hauled off to concentration camps. They now were reduced to the lowest denominator, forced to fight for the shattered remains of their lives... With no hope.

In the ghettos, dead corpses at varying degrees of decay littered the streets of the cramped, German government imposed ghettos used to segregate from society who they considered to be the enemy of the state. They forced the Jewry to live in these inhuman settings, leaving them with no hope and no salvation. Each day passed with nothing of a positive development coming out of it.

Many spent long tiring days slaving away at slave labour camps, only to come home with no reward and to be punished for doing what they were told. The spirits of the populace sank each day, as escape became more and more of a twisted, dreamer's fantasy.

No one of them dared to mention it as they, the fearsome SS officers roamed the streets of the walled in ghettos that rotted and perished in death-like conditions of decay, symbolising the declining hope. The many rotting corpses that littered the gravel-strewn streets liberally served a grim reminder that hope was nothing but a fleeting fantasy.

Sighing, a young man, with striking deep green eyes and short teased jet black hair stepped gracefully around the dead, careful not to disturb them, as they deserved respect. They had their dignity robbed brutally from them in life, in the after life; they would get the much needed respect and dignity they deserved.

It saddened him to be a witness to the growing atrocities, day by day. He could only live and cling to the hope that he would remain in the ghetto and not be shipped off to the rumour concentration camps he heard of that littered the northern frontiers of Germany and sat around the Polish border. Some had even been rumoured to be in the south.

The young man wasn't for sure and had only gathered such information after overhearing muffled conversation between two SS officers as they patrolled the streets, looking for an excuse to beat up one of his kin.

He didn't know what to make of it and kept silent. He thought he had heard something about mass killings at something called death camps, but he had ruled it out, after assuming his theory might be brought on by hunger hallucination. He had wanted to tell his mother, but stopped short of it, fearing it would alarm her or make her think he was getting to be delusional.

He remained silent as he watched his brothers and sisters being rounded up with the returns of the SS officers to haul off another round to a concentration camp or the legendary death camp. He managed to remain out of view during the gatherings, using ice to hide himself. It worked during the cold long winter days, as he appeared to be nothing more than a block of ice.

During the last round up, the young man, Achan Stern deftly avoided authorities, wishing rather to be executed on the spot for blatant defiance than to be hauled off to the concentration camps, never to return or the worse, legendary death camps. Yet, he always felt something was burning in the back of his neck as he made his escapes to hide.

Feeling it was safe, as he came out after the latest round up, while hearing mentions of a couple of places, Bergen Belson and Auschwitz-Birkenau and something about the use of showers with Zyklon-B, he slipped out, cautiously looking around, ensuring that he wasn't going to get caught.

However, he hadn't counted on one of the SS officers to remain behind to conduct a check and random select one of the Jewry for slave labour or execution.

At the corner, leaning against the crumbling remains of a building, stood a tall, slender SS officer, holding a lit cigarette in hand. He tapped the ashes off, while watching the area with close scrutiny. He seemed quite normal; save for the odd silver hair that peeked out from beneath his cap and the eye patch he wore over his right eye.

His gaze landed on the youth. Clearing his throat loudly, he stepped over, drawing a gun. He demanded in a bark, "where are you skulking to, you insolent, morbid being?"

Achan groaned. "I... I'm sorry sir, I wasn't, I'm just trying to stretch!" He knew it was a lame excuse if any. He didn't want to be killed; he would rather make Yahweh angered at him by committing suicide than to let any German officer kill him.

The officer, Sergeant Major Albrecht Kepler, snorted sharply. "That's such bullshit, you little bastard. You're lucky I don't just call back the troops to haul your worthless ass off to Auschwitz so you can join the other dissidents."

Staring at the SS officer, Achan blinked and blinked again. 'No, it can't be! Hikitsu! He's... He's the enemy. But, he was my friend last time, why does he not remember...' He fought back the tears that wanted to fall in remembrance and remorse for the officer's inability to recollect the past. Yet, they didn't fall.

He instead, replied, "I am very sorry if I came off as being rude, sir." He hung his head sadly. 'I wish he was Hikitsu again...' He wanted the man to remember. He wanted the man to remember in order not to be a cruel misguided individual with conformist ideas. He no longer cared if he was shipped off one of the concentration camps; he cared about regaining an old friend.

The SS officer grunted and kicked the boy in the chest, sending the youth reeling back and sprawling over the cold, dank ground. He snorted derisively, contempt dancing steely in his eyes. "You're not sorry, you're just one of a sorry bunch who should have never been allowed to exist as you have in this unrighteous manner before now."

"We co-existed together before free of this misguided propaganda!" Achan exclaimed suddenly, looking up from the spot he lay on ground. His tone was no longer meek and around the inner part of his hand, on the palm formed a gathering of brilliant green light.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about, you insolent bastard?!" Sergeant-major Kepler growled at the boy, his hatred flaring in his visible eye. "And you have no right to even talk to me like that! You ought to be thankful I haven't beaten you to a bloody pulp boy!"

"Hikitsu! You're being irrational!" Achan replied sharply. His clenched fists relaxed, the green light the source of his inner power, summoned forth a sheet of ice that covered the ground and trapped the feet of the SS officer, drawing gasps of shock from the others who meekly walked around the area.

The visible eye of the SS officer shot open and wide. He let out a war cry and summoned forth a wall of ice, surrounding him and the boy. Within formed snaked composed strictly of ice. He sent them against the boy, only to watch them being repelled.

He growled to himself, using force. On his eye, he felt the character come to life, burning his skin, reflecting his passionate desire of loyalties to the state. He refused to let this weak, inferior being beat him, a member of the master race.

In the back of his mind, the hidden memories sparked, but didn't reach the conscious. It warned him to stop, telling him he was against his own kind. It warned he was facing off against another Genbu Seishi, the child at hand, Tomite.

Repeatedly he sent his snakes after to boy, only to watch them get shattered into pieces by arrows, which seemed to come out of nowhere. Arrows namely composed of ice. His senses zeroed in on the source, the boy.

'Tomite!' Sergeant-major Kepler blinked, staring at the Jewish boy that fought him so strongly, with strength worthy of the _Jungvolk_ and _Hitler_ _Jugend_ that fought at the athletic tournaments, proving their worthiness of being part of the master race.

He didn't want to believe that an inferior being could match the strength of those that would lead the way to ultimate victory and bring the master race to power. Yet, it was undeniably there and it was getting entrenched in his memory.

With a mighty command, "stop!" He approached the boy. "Put your arrows and ice away. It's useless, Tomite."

Achan blinked dumbly, staring up at the officer.

"Despite you being a worthless son of a bitch Jew. If you renounce it, I can get you the necessary connections to convert you to a Catholic, permitting you a way to not have to go to the camps." Sergeant-major Kepler explained.

"Why are you being nice?" Was the only thing intelligent Achan could say.

"Because, I'd have my company royally screwed if you were to stay here. Your powers are developed and I'd rather not have to deal with a loss of men because of an impudent youth. So, rather than kill you or try and ship you off, which I doubt won't work, I'm giving you a chance to get your worthless Jewish ass out of here."

"What about my sister?"

"She's worthless. We can do without her. You're a threat and killing you will be impossible, unless you were to become infected. Then again, you would use the ice as a means of healing your body."

"I wouldn't say so, sir."

"You're overstepping your boundaries boy."

"No, I'm just telling you, it will be more than a vain waste of time. Also, I suggest you help my sister as well. She is able to gather the supplies the folk here need to survive. She could easily leave the ghetto, but out of love for the people, she has become our messiah."

"That is such bullshit!"

"Achan?!" Came a gentle feminine voice. It belonged to a tall, slender woman. She was build like other German women, but her hair was the same striking jet black as Achan's, as were her eyes.

She stopped at the ice wall, sighing. She glanced around before raising her fist and punching through the ice, using heat as her main source. Stepping over the shatter remains of the wall, she walked over to her brother. She spoke in Yiddish. "Achan, what are you doing?"

"I'm showing this asshole that we aren't inferior and that we aren't weak!" Achan replied, turning to face his older sister.

Sighing, Achan's older sister smiled sweetly at the SS officer. "Pardon my impudent younger brother, he really doesn't know what he's saying. He's being quite foolish right now..."

Sergeant-major Kepler stared hard at young woman. Her ability to shatter his wall of ice shocked him. It also stirred a memory within him. "Iname."

She pulled back, staring at him incredulously. "I haven't the faintest clue, nor am I her, good sir. I really must get going. Mother is going to start worrying about Achan. She fears him getting into trouble."

Taking her brother by the ear, she led him away. "I'm very sorry if he was rude, sir."

Instead of accepting the apology, Sergeant-major Kepler called out. "If you aren't her, then pray tell, what's your name? Give me a name, any name!"

"Arielle Stern." She replied, walking away quickly.

'Two more Genbu Seishi. There's no longer just me. How many more of them are there? Are they all Jewish?' Sergeant-major Kepler wondered, watching the pair of siblings, walk away.

~~~~

Standing outside the door, a midnight blue haired young man, with hair that brushed lightly against the nape of his neck, stared at a notice he had been handed by an officer in uniform. He had smartly saluting the man, saying he would be honoured to serve the state. But his statements had been purely in hypocrisy.

He continued to stare at the notice. He knew it meant death. War had been something he had always hated; now and forever. He had the fear of it entrenched in his heart. He remembered the tragedy of losing his friends, only to watch two survive.

He had at first, when he met his love, didn't know why she clung vainly to him. He felt he had no worth and that she was worthy of more than he was. He didn't believe he had the honour to be the man she needed. He felt incomplete, like he was missing a part of himself.

After a series of rather traumatic, life transforming events, he found himself complete, knowing the present and past and living with who he was. The other factor that completed him was the young, loyal woman that served as his wife. She didn't care if he thought he wasn't complete, she loved him fully as though he were.

His eyes remained glued to the notice, the strings of his heart tearing as he pictured the agony that would strain over his wife's face as she broke down into hysterical sobs. She loved him and asked him never to join the army, but to stay and work in the city or on the farm on which they now made their living. She had said she would do whatever it took to keep him out of the wave of militarism and sweeping imperialism that got young men caught up in the honour of being a warrior.

He sighed softly. 'For you, Miaka.' With that, he tore the notice in half and let the two halves drop to the ground. Without a word, he returned to the small house. He didn't intend on mentioning a word of it.

He stopped, remembering a threatening line from the notice, demanding that he join the imperial army or face dishonourable death, both him and his family. He then knew it would be inevitable that he would have to explain it to his wife.

A thought them dawned on him. He remembered Miaka telling him of how Yui and her parents had fled the Japan after the initial attack on Pearl Harbour and sought sanctuary away from the Empire of Japan and its emperor with his ideals of militarism and sweeping imperialism.

He could do the same thing, free him and his wife and their unborn child from the tyranny of the nation. He knew the action would be risky and he would have to gracefully dance around the feared Kempei-tai. Despite the Kempei-tai being the military police of Japan, the young man, Sukanami Taka knew they wouldn't take lightly to desertion.

The action would likely cost him and Miaka their lives...

TBC...

~~

**Author's Notes**: Well, it looks like I got chapter 16 out sooner than I thought. That's good, is it not? Yes it is. Now then, as you might have noticed, the first part of the chapter has questionable content. I'm aware of that and I wanted to use a controversial issue from the period in my writing, as I feel it shouldn't be shadowed.

The ghettos are as described. The references to events also occurred. If you're curious, the decree that took away the right of Jews was the Nuremberg Decree of 1935... Below are some sites of interest if you would like to know from whence I gathered such information:

History Place: World War Two in Europe - [http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/timeline/ww2time.htm]

The History Place: Genocide in the 20th Century - [http://www.historyplace.com/worldhistory/genocide/holocaust.htm]

The History Place: The Holocaust Timeline - [http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/holocaust/timeline.html]

**Kempei**** Tai**: Founded in 1881 it became a power in its own right. Originally known as the Military Police of Japan they were torturers _par excellence_ . During World War11, there were around 75,000 members who brought unspeakable terror to all countries occupied by Japan. The Kempei Tai (Japanese counterpart of the Nazi Gestapo) was abolished on October 4, 1945, by the Allied Occupation Authorities. British military courts sentenced to death twenty one Kempei-tai for the murders of Malay civilians and eight others for the torture and murder of British prisoners of war.


	19. White Rose's Secrets

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 17**

Standing against the cold concrete cement wall, her arms folded over her visibly ample chest, her purple hair tied back in a tight braid, Angelique sighed softly. She had been witness to the unjustified advancement of Lieutenant Van Eyke on to her colleague, Aimée. It disgusted, but also alarmed her.

If it happened to her friend, then surely it would likely happen to her! She bit her lip in contemplative thought, wondering if it was a fluke or if she was next on the list. She couldn't bear the thought if she was.

She shook her head. 'No, it can't! I won't. So help me, if that low-life scum thinks he can try and score with me, he's sadly mistaken! If he tries, he's going to be nothing more than an imprint in the wall!'

She punched her fist into the palm of her other hand. 'Oh, I so want to make him regret it!'

Blinking, Angelique turned, hearing the faint shuffling of feet. She turned sharply, her braid spinning around as she did. She was tense, on alert, but relaxed, her sights meeting with the dead ones of her friend.

She trotted over. "_Mon dieu_, what ever is wrong, Aimée?" She gasped out, taking her friend's hands in hers. "It's that awful man, isn't it?!"  
  
"_Oui mon ami_." Aimée replied sadly. "I do wish the good Lord hadn't made such a man for this green earth… Why did he have to come back?"

"Who?" Angelique asked, curious. She knew she was a reincarnation of a strong being; the reincarnation of Suzaku Seishi, Nuriko. She had her wish and now was female. She felt a minor connection to Aimée but couldn't place it…

"Lieutenant Van Eyke is… He's a… Oh, Angelique! There is no justice for women in this forsaken world! We have always been at the pity of man!" Aimée sobbed softly, choking back tears.

"What is he?" The one that was once Suzaku Seishi Nuriko queried. 'Is Aimée also a seishi? I sense it. But, which one is she? She does vaguely look like a Seiryuu Seishi, but I don't remember their female Seishi too clearly.'

"It's not what he is, it's who he is!" The former Seiryuu Seishi, Soi replied. She inhaled deeply. She had her doubts about telling such things. She didn't know if she would be regarded as a mad hatter for such claims or if it would get a warm reception.

She gazed into the cobalt orbs of her friend. Boldly in a low voice, stated, "the lieutenant is Seiryuu Seishi, Tomo."

"Seiryuu Seishi, Tomo?" Angelique blinked, trying to remember. She had the hardest time trying to recall the Seishi, as no permanent image of the man had been implanted in her mind from her previous life.

"_Oui_." Aimée nodded. She sighed morosely. "It was easier when he was just a cold bastard who wanted nothing to do with me. Now it's hard because I don't know what to expect from him."

Angelique blinked, unable to recall what the man looked like. She was however able to guess that her friend had been one of the Seiryuu Seishi, but which one? Aimée did vaguely remind her of Soi…

Almost seeming to come out of the shadows, from up the snaking corridor slithered the much loathed lieutenant. His golden narrow eyes were strategically averted on the young, meeker of the two females meeting in the hall. He had no use for the purple haired female, his desires and intentions lay with the former Seiryuu Seishi, Soi. He let her get out of his grasp too easily - one too many times for his liking. This time however, would be different, much different.

He would slowly break her wild stallion spirit from the past, erode all thoughts and emotions that were more con the blonde shogun. He wanted it eradicated from her conscious and subconscious. He would let her fall, then gracefully catch her when she was utmost vulnerable, making her into what he wanted, needed and desired.

His initial intentions seemed to be to create a docile resistance leader. In essence, in truth, in his mind he had plans to recreate the Soi he knew and get her to work for him - in more than one way. It would stretch beyond strictly professional. He wanted her completely, but he could never bring himself to admit such things right out when she still had her sights and dreams fixated upon the one man who he knew was his enemy.

He stopped, stopping in front of the two ladies. He cast a withering glance at the purpled hair woman. His tone was curt and cold, as he addressed the impediment to his desires and intentions. "Excuse me, you have to leave. I need to speak with Mademoiselle Beauregard."

Angelique blinked, stunned. She didn't know if this was the man that her friend didn't like or not, but she didn't have a profound retort to fire back. Also, this was the enemy and he was likely armed with a pistol and she didn't need to be sent home in a corpse bag because she had a big mouth, even if she was stronger than almost all the men she knew.

Snorting scornfully, she arrogantly tossed her braid behind her shoulder as she briskly pushed by the German. She had no need for him and she intended to show as little respect and courtesy as possible.

Once she was out of shot, both vision and hearing, Lieutenant Van Eyke turned to Aimée, grabbing her wrist. He pulled her into his arms, smirking down at her, his mouth almost covering hers. "Isn't this a nice little surprise, wouldn't you say, Soi?!"

"I would say it's not! I do not want to be manhandled by the likes of you, Tomo!" She scathingly seethed, her tone dripping profusely with venom, as she contemplated electrocuting him with lightening. Although at the cost of her own safety, so she momentarily let that idea slip out of her mind.

"I wouldn't call it such a harsh thing. After all, I'm only stopping you from falling, so is that such a bad thing?!" His smirk taunted, challenged her. He was going to fully enjoy her. Since he first arrived, she captured his fancy and now he wanted vengeance, he wanted to capture her for his own.

"No you're not! All you're doing is proving that you're nothing more than a leach! I hate you and I do not want you touching me or even looking at me like that!"

"Oh, such spitfire."

"Stop that!"  
  
"And why should I, dear Soi?!" he purred, his lips brushing over hers. "You know, your fiery attitude reminds me of an English play I once read: _The Taming of the Shrew_. It seems we're being cast in it and this is our stage."

She wanted to push him away, but she realised just how calculating he still was. She noted he had taken that into account when he took her into this compromising position. She was stuck and he was enjoying it. That was unfair!

"I don't even agree! And I'm impressed that there is still literature in that fascist hellhole! I'm surprised you read such a refined piece of work considering what an unrefined cocky jackass!" She spat hatefully.

"You've given me even less reason why I should let you go, little miss. I'd much rather keep you for my own devices. Come along, I wish to speak with you. Don't try anything foolish, for it will cost you dearly if you should."

With that, without her saying anything, he kept a tight grasp on her wrist and led her to his quarters, where he pushed her in gently, shutting the door behind them. Locking it, he smirked slyly at her. "I wouldn't object if I were you, it seems more to your benefit if you do go along with this."

"I refuse to."

"You can, but not for long."

Aimée swallowed hard, clasping her hands in from of her bosom, only imagining what he possibly had in mind for her. She didn't want to dare think what he was going to do to her! It would be horrible to even think of…

~~~~

Over the makeshift radio crackled the static of a long-distance broadcast. It came from England. Around it, sat three youths. They tuned in. This was the source they needed for their information before they made their next move to circulate more pamphlets that contained degrading material on the loathed regime.

"_Verdammen Sie es_!" The silver-haired male of the group exclaimed. He highly disliked it when static consumed the airwaves when Prime Minister Churchill made his weekly address to all of Britain and her allies. The White Rose had been lucky enough to tap into the radio air waves.

Theodor petulantly tapped his fingers on the hard wood desk. "Elisabet! Hasn't the allied broadcast started yet? What is the news? Any advance onto the German front?"  
  
She raised a finger to her to her lips to indicate for him to shush, as she fiddled with the radio dials and the antennae to get better reception. She was the one among the group with passable English. Her two male colleagues didn't grasp it as easily, therefore making her the translator of the allied broadcast, since it was mostly conducted in English.

"Is there anything of importance yet? Has Herr Churchill said anything of value?" Nickolaus queried, his voice low, as to not impede on the former Byakko Seishi, Subaru's efforts to get a signal.

"_Kein…kein…JA_!! I got a better connection!!" She exclaimed happily. "Now shush, we haven't missed the start of the broadcast yet."

Over the makeshift radio, a refine English speaker announced the presence of Prime Minister Winston Churchill. He added the date before saying the English leader would now make his address to a nation at war and her allies.

_Nearly six months have passed since, at the end of August, I made a broadcast directly to my fellow countrymen. It is therefore worthwhile looking back over this half year of struggle for life-for that is what it has been and what it is-to see what has happened to our fortunes and to our prospects. _

Elisabet nodded. 'Good.' She thought, noting it was just the introduction. Nothing particularly important to the group as of yet. She glanced over and held up a hand indicating for silence from her two male colleagues. She needed to keep all her attention on the speech, as her English wasn't as perfect as that of the Anglo.

…_pleasure of meeting the President of the United States and drawing up with him the declaration of British and American policy which has become known to the world as the Atlantic Charter. We also settled a number of other things about the war_…

She held her pen in hand, trying to scribble down notations to give to her colleagues. It was hard to write in German and listen to English. The translation process was difficult, but it was key to their activities that they be aware of allied advances and positions.

Now silent, in the backdrop of the room, Nickolaus dealt out cards to him and Theodor. This would keep them silent until the broadcast was finished. It wouldn't be polite of them to interrupt her as she worked and did everything she could under such times of stress.

Looking up, glaring at the radio as more static crackled, intercepting part of the speech, Elisabet gritted her teeth, resisting the urge to growl out profanities that were unbecoming of a woman in such a period of time. Instead, she bit her lip, the nasty profanities merely dancing in her head.

…_In those days, the Germans seemed to be tearing the Russian armies to pieces and striding on with growing momentum to Leningrad, to Moscow, to Rostov and even farther into the heart of Russia_…

_It was thought a very daring assertion when the President declared that the Russian armies would hold out until the winter_…

She scratched down that inkling of details, wondering if indeed the massive German military has the manpower to break through the Soviet lines. She scripted a question mark next to that fact, wondering the validity of it. She knew she shouldn't question it because it came from a trustworthy source, but even then.

…_We had already been for more than a whole year absolutely alone in the struggle with Hitler and Mussolini. We had to be ready to meet a German invasion of our own island. We had to defend Egypt, the Nile Valley and the Suez Canal_…

"_Fluch_! The damned brown shirts are headed this way." Theodor cursed, glaring at the approaching men out the window. He didn't know what to do, as he slammed the cards down he had been dealt. Quickly, he stood up.

"What? What is it?" Nickolaus glanced up, sensing the alarm in his friend's sudden action.

"Just the usual assholes. I'm going to go take them out."

"NO!! You'll get in trouble!"

But his words went in vain, as Theodor teleported from the room.

"Tokaki." Nickolaus whispered. "Just like when we were protecting Byakko no Miko. You're just as reckless as before. You must've had nine lives…"

The one that was the former Byakko Seishi, Subaru, hadn't the faintest notion that this was occurring in the background, as she worked to translate as much as she could of all crucial information. They needed to know that their army wasn't invincible and that the government would experience defeat swiftly enough that it would gracelessly collapse, going teacup over saucer.

…_It is little enough we have done for Russia, considering all she has done to beat Hitler and for the common cause. In these circumstances, we British had no means whatever of providing effectively against the new war with Japan. Such was the outlook when I talked with President Roosevelt in the middle of August on board the good ship Prince of Wales, now, alas, sunk beneath the waves_…

'But they are the Bolsheviks! They are the communists! Weren't they the common enemy before the Nationalists became? How strange that there is an alliance between two such sources. But what else is to be expected in times of war.' She thought, listening to the continuing broadcast with keen interest.

She placed her pen down for a moment, wondering…

How could two enemies become allies? Actually, that was a dumb question. The Russians hated the Germans and the English needed a big army. It was all a matter of need as oppose to if you like the person(s). Necessity oft took precedence over other petty matters.

She sighed, picking her writing tool back up and dipping the tip into the inkwell that sat on her desk. Lightly she tapped the nib on the rim of the inkwell, letting the black ink drip off before she touched it back onto the page.

…_Still, when you looked at it bluntly and squarely, with the United States neutral and fiercely divided, with the Russian armies falling back with grievous losses, with the German military power triumphant and unscathed, with the Japanese menace assuming an uglier shape each day, it certainly seemed a very bleak and anxious scene…_

_How do matters stand now? Taking it all in all, are our chances of survival better or worse than in August, 1941? How is it with the British Empire, or Commonwealth of Nations-are we up or down? What has happened to the principles of freedom and decent civilization for which we are fighting? Are they making headway or are they in greater peril?_…

* * * * 

**Author's Notes**: Well, it was a long time since I've posted a new chapter? Was it worth the wait? I should hope so, I've been busy with school. Plus it is easier for me to write at home rather than during my spare because that way I don't have morons gawking over my shoulder as I write. It's really annoying when they do that!! Anyway, once school is out on June 17th, I'll have more time to write and hopefully I'll be able to write more chapters and get more out for you instead of once a month. But hey, quality is better than quantity!

Quotes are taken from Prime Minister Winston Churchill's speech given on: February 15, 1942.

[http://www.ibiblio.org/pha/policy/1942/420215a.html]


	20. Resistance of Temptation

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 18**

It had taken coaxing on the part of Jeremiah to have his twin agree to Captain Stonewall's request. The mission in essence seemed basic; not requiring much except a promise to participate and loyalty in addition to the combat that was essential in this mission. It didn't seem to be that involved in the war, except to be serving to free a group of POWs that were part of a French resistance trying to rid France of German occupation and help end the horrible war.

For this, he had pledged his and his brother's time for the mission, though not knowing the one important detail about this. This small fact was that he would be working for the one man he had not wanted to work with; the officer he had one been a soldier for – his former commanding officer, Captain Andreas. However, since he hadn't the faintest notion that he would be employed as a pawn of that captain, he felt no restraint being put on his freedom as he lay his promise to help sans American patriotism.

Ready to make his next move to the final coax on the moderately caving Séamus, Jeremiah deeply contemplated alternatives for just how much more it would take. Thus far, his words were in vain. It was pushing him to the limits. Now there was only one option remaining and that was dirty tactics. He figured, if he was going to revert to using dirty tactics, that he should at least have fun with it.

His rationale was that if the male species was easily seduced by the temptress female desiring whatever was on whim at the moment, then given how he felt about his twin and vice versa, such actions would likely work, so at least he hoped…

That was all he could do for the moment was hope, as he waited for his twin to finish up at the cleaning basin. His brother had made his painfully clear that he didn't want to be interrupted when washing up and thus, locked the door to the small room where he kept the water basin. With an incoming source from a small canal used for in-city irrigation – for those who kept small farms during the depression not wanting to have to pay for food – he had no need to go out daily for fresh water.

Though the water was cold, he didn't care entirely, as he splashed the brisk, refreshing water over his face. He then glanced up, shaking off the excess before grabbing a slightly damp towel to dry off. Listlessly replacing it, he pulled his shirt back on, as he had stripped it off in order to keep it dry while he freshened up.

Pouncing on his twin after he exited from the small bathroom, if one could call it such, Jeremiah gazed sweetly into his twin's eyes, his smile innocent. He wrapped his arms around his brother's neck. If it required cheap tactics, then this was going to be fun…

"Séamus, you know you're a good fighter and you're using your energy to fight for a cause here at home…why don't you join me for another type of fight?! You're good enough, aren't you?! Besides, you know you want to and you won't send me to fight on my own because you're a sweet loving brother that cares about me…" Jeremiah knew he was piling on the sweetness and sap thickly, but he also knew his twin had a low tolerance for such things. Hopefully it would breakdown his resistance!

Séamus, to the expectations of his brother, didn't let him finish and did cave once the sweetness and sap was getting laden thickly. "All right already! I'll help, just stop lowering yourself to such levels. Show some dignity brother!"

"Aw! I knew I could count on you!!" The former Seiryuu Seishi, Amiboshi purred, his mouth touching his twin's, though not covering it. His lips softly brushed over his brother's.

"Hn… You just had to revert to using temptress ways. You know I hate it when you do." The younger of the twins bitterly complained.

"But you don't complain about this…" Jeremiah cut his own words off by fiercely kissing his twin, pressing his mouth demandingly over his brother's, his tone twining with its counterpart.

"I hate it when you know what I can't complain about…" He softly whispered, his body melting against his twin's; his mouth embracing the sweet tasting one of his brother's. His hands trailed over his brother's back, gently snaking down the curve of his twin's spine, before slipping under the fabric of his twin's shirt. Skilfully his hands loosened the garment.

The elder softly purred; mewed plaintively at the gentle caress of hands over his warm skin. His mouth eagerly responded to the embracing kiss, devouring the sweet salvia of his twin's, relishing in the tempting and delicious sinful sensations, they both knew were deathly wrong but felt so right.

~~~~

Sitting on the floor, her hands across her face, as she hide her anguish, the wife of a young Japanese male, sobbed softly, choking on her cries. She didn't want to believe that they would now have to suffer after being reunited. They had been through so much only to now have this thrown in their faces and hurt them and their peaceful lives.

"Iie! Taka! They can't be serious! But you're an asset to the country; a farmer!" Sukanami Miaka cried out, her soft green eyes glistening with tears, as she fought them back, not wanting to cry. Desperately, she reached out for his hand.

"Ore wa… Gomen nasai, Miaka." Taka softly replied, his teal hair cascading over his eyes, as he bowed in head in regret for what he hadn't done. A morose sigh slipped unbidden over his lips, as his fingers laced through hers, trying to reassure her, but he knew as well as she did: there was no concept of reassurance in such times of war.

Her chin quivered and tears streaked her cheeks, unchecked, as she couldn't hold them back any more. The glistening moisture in her eyes became tears of melancholy, expressing her remorse as they fall, rolling softly down her cheeks.

Reaching a hand, Taka gently took her salty tears on his finger. "Miaka, your tears aren't worthy of anything right now. There is still a hope, but it's risky."

"Anou? What?" She asked softly, almost fearfully as she registered his words.

"We have to flee if I am to avoid being completely drafted."

"No…Taka! The Kempei-tai is ruthless!! They won't let us get away!"

"Trust me, Miaka. We lived through Kutou's war on Konan and its consequences. We are stronger than that. This is just a small set back. We can make it. Yui did. She's safely in the west."

She wordlessly stared at him, before mutely nodding her assent.

Standing, he smiled reassuringly at her. "I'll gather us a small bag and we'll leave in the night. It'll be easier. We'll try and escape on a vessel carrying other civilians, who are leaving. We'll blend in and they'll never know."

"All right, I trust you, Taka."

"Arigatou. Wo ai ni."

"Aishiteru."

~~~~

Petulantly waiting for the package from their unexpected yet questionable ally, Arielle, the elder of the siblings, didn't let her younger brother, Achan say anything, even to their mother, insisting that such trust was hard to come by and that they had to remain silent. She explained it was better to wait and get out and send for their friends and relatives rather than say anything right away. Even the modest slip up, she said could have dire consequences for both parties and likely endanger their chances of escaping from the ghetto and Nazi imposed hellhole.

Achan could only sigh in sadness, as he still had the youthful taste for freedom and hated having to comply with Nazi regulations that restricted even their worship of Yahweh. He was a young, impetuous boy with no desire for the regime and laws. He had only listened to Kepler because the man was his former friend and ally: Genbu Seishi, Hikitsu.

Other than that, he showed no respect for the authority and Arielle was stunned and amazed by the fact that her younger brother remained unscratched and unharmed because of his daring and defiant ways. She didn't say anything though. She knew it oft was not going to be heeded. Instead, she could only pray that her brother wouldn't do anything he would regret.

Her greatest fear was that he would end up in the dreaded concentration camp. The ghetto was paradise compared to that type of hellhole. She didn't want to loser her only brother to such a horrible place. She tried to stop him everyday, by making excuses for him. But soon they would run out, as would Achan's time.

They sat in the small cramped kitchenette of their housing complex. Their mother was out with her friend. Their father, they only knew he had been taken away in the last round up and could only continue to pray for his safety and well being.

She gazed up, reaching for her brother's hand, squeezing them reassuringly. "Trust him, I know he may be one of them on the outside, but he's putting his life and job on the line for us. We can't do anything hasty now that would cost us our freedom because he was discovered."

Her gentle, forest green eyes pleaded with the ones identical to hers. Achan could only look away. He knew that look in his sister's eyes and he knew he was vulnerable to it because she was gentle and knew how to win over his favour when she needed to.

"All right, I'll do it, for you, Arielle." He whispered softly, his black, untrimmed hair falling in his eyes as he spoke. He didn't want to sit still, but his sister had a gentle way of persuasion that always got him to agree.

"Thank you. I promise I'll make it up to you once we're out of here."

~~~~

Word of the presence of German U-boats littering and loitering in the city harbour became known to allies, but the rebels did nothing to stop it. They welcomed the enemy because they viewed the allied forces as the enemy. They had no need to do what the allied forces wanted. They had been stripped of their land and freedom centuries ago and in return, expected to serve some faceless monarch. They refused to, even up to this present day, in such a time of a destructive war.

There was however, the other faction of the citizens felt strong ties to the motherland of England and swore absolute and undying loyalty. They were the ones that took up arms to defend the home front from the impending threats of any German invasion. They were also told to be on alert for any infiltration, by the cunning Japanese spies employed by the fearsome Kempei-tai. They hadn't had any hints of such people being around, but kept an eye open for those who weren't loyal to the cause.

This unnerved Yui. She was aware of the happenings, as she did speak English and fully comprehended the language. It made her strive to fit in even more. She didn't want to be arrested as a suspect because of her nationality. For that reason, after her encounter with Jeremiah, she had sought out a clothing shop where she was able to acquire western clothing, all accessories to cover her from head to foot.

Now she only had to worry about her accent, but she was able to cover that by saying she had been living in the eastern parts of the world and her family were English teachers trying to convert the primates to conventional folk from the ancient beings they were.

She did explain she was exposed to both languages and that's why she had a soft accent on her English. Many accepted that. She was thankful for that and her less than oriental appearance. Her blonde hair and cerulean blue eyes were deceptive and acted to cover up her roots of origin, as she came to fit into a western, Christian society. To further assist her in her mask and cover-up so that she wouldn't be suspected, she started attending mass, letting herself become apart of that weekly event.

There was still a small problem or rather issue that unnerved her. It concerned the one boy she had met, the one looking like her Seishi. Did he remember? Was he Suboshi? Or…no, she couldn't possibly think that that was Amiboshi she had dealt with. She had wanted it to be the loyal boy she had known. She needed him now, just to hold her and tell her it was going to be okay. She wanted to feel his arms around her slender body as she leaned against his muscular one, seeking comfort.

She sighed, wandering the streets. She had managed to find the address of the boy, hoping that maybe both were together and it was just a coincidence that she had met up with the other one and it had been a test for her to endear.

She was unable to push all thoughts out of her mind about him, only wanting to see him one last time. She could only remember him chasing after her best friend, who had come by the dojo her family owned. The next thing she knew, the young man was dead. She lived with the guilt that it was her fault he was dead. If she hadn't sent him after Miaka, he would've been alive and she would've had someone to comfort her as she feared the war that waged around her.

She stopped at a small series of what the locals called "flats". She smiled at the term, it was cute. She glanced around, watching a young couple push a "pram" with the new-born "babe" down the path. She turned her face away, trying to focus back on what she came for. There was no room for fantasy right now.

As she had watched them, she wondered if that's what she could've had if she hadn't sent him after Miaka... To have him die...

Shaking her head, Yui turned and took a few steps over to the squeaky wooden steps of the three storey red brick building. Grasping the rusted, black handrail, she cautiously walked up, her insides twisting, as a thousand butterflies ate her stomach alive. She felt like it was needles pulling her stomach apart. She had felt less nervous than this when preparing to summon Seiryuu than to see if she had a chance of finding the one boy whom she longed for now.

She lifted a hand, her knuckle jutting out as her hand shook. She didn't know if she could do this. Her throat felt tight, her mouth dry. She feared encountering the one that wouldn't know her. He had been cold and curt with her, very blunt. She didn't know what else to make of that, other than it was likely Amiboshi that had been the one she had met up with first.

'His name? That was Jeremiah. I want to speak with the one that doesn't go by that name.' She thought weakly knocking on the door, waiting. No answer came yet. She waited patiently, not wanting to make herself seem aggressive.

A good solid minute past before she knocked again, this time more forcefully than before, though it was still weak. She didn't know if she was disturbing them…him or not.

She sighed in relief, hearing the signs of muffled conversation - two voices, both distinct in accent. One sporting the local flavour and the other foreign. She assumed the speaker with the regional accent was not the one she had met up with in the least pleasant of circumstances.

She stiffened as the door opened.

"Hn…seadh?!" The first of the pair had answered - the one with the regional accent on his voice.

She blinked and softly smiled. "Hi." She would have normally bowed out of courtesy, but she reminded herself that this was the western world and such customs weren't present.

Yui gazed at him expectantly.

There was a moment of silence then…

He blinked, stepping out, shutting the door behind him. Séamus shut the door, staring down at her, slightly surprised. "Yui??"

* * * * *

**Author's Notes**: Wow, I'm surprised at myself, two chapters in one week, I'm on a role. This is a record for me. I wonder if I can get out another one before the end of May? We'll have to see, won't we? I guess it is all dependent upon the amount of inspiration I feel when I write each chapter. It looks like I was bitten by the creative bug today. I wrote some of this in math class, when I should've been reviewing for the test I have tomorrow. Aw hell, it's just algebra, it's easy! I could factor that stuff in my sleep! Anyway, consider this chapter to be the pivotal point in the epic because from here, it all changes and hopefully I can get this whole fanfic down in less than a hundred pages. With this chapter, my fanfic is now 85 pages long. That is a long of work. Now you see why it takes me a longtime. I have a goal of at least one chapter/month. So, consider this a luxury that you get two… I'll try and get chapter 19 done ASAP.


	21. In Life and Death Loves Prevails

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 19**

_How do matters stand now? Taking it all in all, are our chances of survival better or worse than in August, 1941? How is it with the British Empire, or Commonwealth of Nations-are we up or down? What has happened to the principles of freedom and decent civilization for which we are fighting? Are they making headway or are they in greater peril?_…

Listening to the broadcast that was playing over allied radio waves, all cross the allied nations and bases, many were tuned in, one of the listeners being Chelsea, sighed. She was realising the complexity of the situation and how the small plan devised to free a few POWs wasn't going to be enough to push back German forces, unless there was some small miracle that was going to grace the English.

She looked up from the daily copy of the London Chronicle that she had picked up from the newsstand from the young lad calling out the headlines of the day. She carefully folded the paper as she turned her attention completely to Prime Minister Churchill's broadcast.

She listened every week, no matter what. She felt it was important, especially being a secretary in the military. She had a job requiring a lot of her. She wanted to fulfil that and more. So, she tried to stay-on top of all recent events and up to the minute breaking news. She wanted to do her job to the fullest.

Turning in her chair, daintily crossing her legs and smoothing her kilt so it was pristinely over her knees, she attentively listened. She didn't want to miss any important information. Even the smallest insignificant fact was key to how the events of the war unfolded, writing history for the generations to come.

A gentle pair of hands jolted out of her reverie. She turned, gazing up into the deep, soulful eyes of Brennan. She smiled sweetly, placing a hand over his. "Well, hi stranger! How nice of you to come and see a lady in the workplace while you enjoy sitting around on your foolish arse."

"Don't talk to me like that! I ain't foolish, nor do I sit around on my arse all day!" Brennan retorted, his hands gently massaging her shoulders, his fingers toying with the top button of her collar, prying it apart.

She reached up, playfully smacking it. "Now stop that. This isn't the place for such behaviour! Now really, don't, wait until we're alone."

"**_We're alone_**?! I really like the sounds of that." Brennan smirked. "So it means you don't like my friend as more than a way of making me jealous?!"

"Well, I do like him because he's such a gentleman and you were being nothing more than a went blanket." Chelsea giggled. She pulled her shoulders from his hands. "But really now, I'm trying to listen to The Prime Minister's address."

"Can't ya just read about it in the rag?" He pressed.

"No, I'd much rather hear the breaking news and information on the allied forces first-hand than rely upon some gossip injected rag for my war information, unless it comes from the front and Prime Minister Churchill hadn't said anything on it."

"Fine, if you insist."

"Oh, I do!"

Gleefully grinning, Brennan bent over, sweeping Chelsea out of her chair, swinging her up into his arms. "I think you've been working too long!" He grinned, his fangs exposed.

"I hate it when you act cute because then I can't be mad at you." Chelsea groused, pouting, staring into his eyes. She sighed. "Oh pity, fine, you win!"

"Good. Now, I think you need to be in a more suitable setting. The office setting it far too demanding on your beauty." He purred softly.

She just blinked.

A stern, bold and confident voice with a tone saying: _I'm Commander Shove-It-Up-Your-Ass-'Cause-I'm-Superior_, broke the romance of the moment. A thin smirk rode on those lips. He stood in the door, his arms folded over his chest, as he spoke. "Need I remind you, Miss Llwellyn that such behaviour in his place isn't acceptable?!"

"Uh…I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to overstep what I can and cannot do. I didn't wish for Brennan to be here right now and do such things." Chelsea gingerly climbed out of her boyfriend's arms, lowering herself to the floor.

She gazed at the floor. "I didn't mean anything by it sir!"  
  
"I'll let it slip since you are more aware of your world than most of my men and you are Chiriko, with a redeeming asset of intelligence found only in a select few geniuses." Captain Andreas coldly replied, his eyes slipping over to where Brennan was.

"Ah, Tasuki." He smirked.  
  
"Aw crap, not you!" The former Suzaku Seishi, Tasuki groaned, exchanging glances with the blonde shogun, the former Seiryuu Seishi, Nakago. He hated this man more than he had hated Suboshi.

"Oh yes, indeed."

"You're the one behind the plan to invade France--"  
  
"Using IRA rebels. Yes I am."  
  
Brennan growled, his gaze icy. "I should've known!!"

"Also, your precious emperor is in on this. He joined with the idea to use the dissident rebels of the IRA, make them work and not act as shit disturbers."

Chelsea moved quickly, standing between the two parties. She immediately started to act as the mediator. "Stop it now! You're supposed to be allies! And Brennan, you already promised to help!"  
  
"But you seduced me!!" He whined.

Captain Andreas smirked, not saying a thing. He decided to just let Brennan go ahead and whine. It was amusing to watch the unfolding stupidity of the average civilian.

~~~~

Having just his wife and one bag for them both, Taka led his pregnant wife through the dark of the streets, to the depot where they would catch the boat that would take them from Japan in the dead of the night, away from the war. He led her down a winding dirt path, going into Kyoto. In the far distance away, roaring sirens could be heard, as an air raid overhead commenced.

He didn't have time to turn back. Despite Miaka's protests, they couldn't turn back now. They had destroyed their house as to make it appear as though they were killed, so they could easily fool the Kempei-tai. If they were assumed dead, his theory was that they would not be pursued as fugitives and traitors. He didn't want them to be shot on blank point rage as traitors of the high crime of treason.

For that reason, Taka had explained to Miaka it was easy to set their small dwelling on fire than to leave it as is and have to worry about being trailed and followed and shot down. He believed it was the only solution as of yet. He couldn't think of anything else to do in order to solve this dilemma.

~~~~

They had been lucky that Theodor's impetuous act to go after the Gestapo for coming in the area hadn't cost them anything dear. Elisabet and Nickolaus considered the group lucky that they been spared any investigation because of any suspicious activity that may have been conducted behind closed doors.

The former Byakko Seishi, Subaru didn't know if she should've slapped her former husband, Tokaki, or kissed him because he was safe. She was torn. She loved him, but not because of whom he was in the past, but because of who he was now. She had her memories of him and she didn't want to let go of those. She also had her knowledge of him in the present. That was just as valuable.

She sighed, touching a hand to his face. "Please, don't do that again! You know as I do, that we're luck that we didn't get spotted in the crowd for our activities. If they had, who knows what could've happened."

"Sorry, but I can't stand them! They are only pawns and puppets of a foolish and racist regime that has to fall and fall hard!" He replied, leaning into her touch. It was like before, soft and gentle. He lifted a hand, clutching hers.

In a low whisper, he purred softly, "I still love you, Subaru…Elisabet."

He leaned in, his mouth covering hers in a gentle kiss.

In the background, Nickolaus sat, watching. His heart felt heavy as memories from his past life came back. Memories of Suzuno; her gentle, smiling face… He felt her soft hand press against his cheek as they gazed into each other's eyes, professing the forbidden love they couldn't deny for each other.

Watching Elisabet and Theodor interact like this, sadden Nickolaus. He didn't have Suzuno. He had been reunited with her at death, but then separated as they were reincarnated. He didn't know if she had been given a second chance. He wished she had… And that she was here, with him. He longed to be able to hold her, as Theodor held Elisabet.

He sighed morosely and stood up. He walked, sitting down at a chair, looking out the dirtied window, watching people pass by, walking the debris and rubble that littered the streets from the last allied raid on Berlin.

He gasped suddenly, seeing the approaching Gestapo. It was far from over. They now had reinforcements!

~~~~

They needed to go to Tokyo. Kyoto wasn't the place to launch from, unless one was going to be with the marines and navy. That was quickly learnt by Taka, after he spoke with a man operating the boats in the area. The only ones suited for voyage were now converted to military use. There was no room for civilians to now use those boats.

This had been grudgingly accepted. Now they would have to move quickly, but there was a greater risk to going to Tokyo because of the repeated air raids that were being done by the allied and American forces. It was in response to the attack on Pearl Harbour of December 7th, 1941, a day that had grown to be known as one _that would live in infamy, when the United States of America was suddenly and unexpectantly attacked by the Empire of Japan_. 

The civilians of Japan only knew that they suddenly had a new enemy and many sought to flee, as Taka was doing. They didn't want to be around for the air raids and the eventual concluding attacks that would end the war. Such an end was many years away. The people were forced to get used to the sound of raining fire over their city, night after night.

Stopping on a path, in the countryside, staring ahead, Taka, released Miaka's wrist, staring at the flaring lights on the horizon. He swallowed, knowing it could only be an air raid being initiated by the United States of America. He didn't want to go any further. He just wanted the danger to subside.

Staring at the night sky, he couldn't see, but heard the fighter jets flying over head. They sounded much like overgrown mosquitoes with an attitude problem. He could only see the flashes from when they dropped bombs into the city of Tokyo. Soon the fighter jets vanished, leaving nothing more than chaos and destruction in their path.

Reaching for his wife, he pulled Miaka into his arms, holding her against his body, resting his chin on her head. He didn't say a thing. He didn't know what to say at a time like this. Words were meaningless and had no purpose. Only such a gesture could speak volumes that his words couldn't.

She sighed, her hand clutching the fabric of his tunic, holding him close. She nuzzled her face against his chest, only just wanting to be in his arms. She couldn't ask for more than she had right now. This was all she had wished for as Suzaku no Miko - to have her love as his, for now and all eternity.

She didn't want to be separated from him again. Even if it meant dying by his side, she would. She had been separated from him once already. The reunion had been slow because he didn't have his memories. It had taken a while to get him to even know that they were forever sworn to each other.

They pulled apart, looking into the other's eyes, before their mouths moved to meet in a gentle, passionate kiss. He pressed his mouth against hers, only giving what she gave. The kiss was expressive of their deep respect and love for each other.

Pulling apart after a pregnant moment, they stared into each other's eyes. Tears glistened in Miaka's. She was happy and sad all at once. She was leaving her homeland, but she had the one she loved. She missed her best friend, but she had something special that was going to be filling that gap.

She sighed. She went to speak, but it was going to be too late. She wanted to express her love for him, but it was too late. She wanted to say something, but all she would be able to say was his name. That would be the only thing she would be able to say.

They were lucky to have got this far. If they had been able to launch from Kyoto and leave Japan, they wouldn't be on the path, in the darkest hour of night, now facing the loathsome and fearsome men of the Kempei-tai. Now, they stood, in the dead of night, the wind blowing around them, as they faced their enemy, not knowing their fate and not knowing if they were going to be luck enough to get away.

Taka pulled Miaka into his arms, his eyes sending a warning gaze to the group of men, dressed in the identical uniforms. The uniformity of the group was conformity. It was dangerous for those who didn't preach such things.

"Sukanami Taka, you are to come with us." The first of the men began. He appeared to be the leader of the group. His men held guns. In a few exceptions, a couple held rifles. They were trained in marksmanship and rested the rifles skilfully on their shoulders, waiting for commands.

"And if I don't?" He moved away from his wife.

A single shot was fired. The bullet whizzed through the air. There was a moment of silence before the sound of the bullet penetrated, eating through flesh echoed through the night air, riding on the wind, as did the sound of a body hitting the ground…

"TAAAAAAAKKKKKKAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!"

* * * * * *

**Author's Notes**: impressive, ne?! Two chapters in one day! I scare myself. Anyway, I guess you can expect from this point and on that things take a slightly nasty turn before I cool off with the _Titus Andronicus_ style killings. I know, it is a nasty cliff-hanger, but we're at the part when we need to skip on having conclusive endings. Besides, how else am I going to make sure you finish reading *wink* I hope you haven't grown tired of this yet because there is still more to come. Stand tune, chapter 20 will be out soon! Yes, there will be more character killings…


	22. Bloodlust

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 20**

**Author's Notes**: I guess it has been quite a while before I've written any parts for this fanfic. Anyways, I do have a good reason for being so negligent with this and it's this: I have just moved to a new city or rather my birth place and I have been trying to get my computer all set up. I was having trouble with my old one and didn't want to write anything in case it crashed in which case I might have lost what I wrote. I also was close to graduating from high school and I had final exams to deal with and that took precedence. 

So, here is the long awaited chapter 20.

I know, I have too many excuses, but I will be writing more frequently now that I have a more reliable computer and an Internet connection again. I thank all those of you who were very patient in waiting for me to get the next part up. I look forward to reading what you have to say about this fic.

There is some questionable content in here (what else is new). It is part of the entire fic. 

Just a reminder: I want the themes to be like this. I cannot down play anything. I want this to be as close to the truth if possible. It's fiction, but like you all know, it's based around World War 2. I have taken actual events and placed them in this fic or I have taken ideas and issues that circulated at that time and placed them in.

~~~~

He grunted. Continual thumping echoed. He continued to grunt, his energy being exerted to the purpose of exercising. Perspiration freely dripped down his face and neck, shocking his bare upper body and torso, as he pulled back, pushing damp fiery red hair back from his face. He hadn't had the chance to work out in a while and felt he was being listless and idle by doing nothing.

He pulled back, taking a bottle of water he had set aside, taking a slug. He had long ago converted his old, damaged chesterfield to a punching bag-like object against which to vent his anger. He kept it in the back alley of his Belfast home.

Having stopped, he stood against the wall, breathing heavily.

'Damnit! It ain't fuckin' fair. Can't believe Chelsea won't give me the light of day. Kennedy takes one damned look at her and she's all over him.' Brennan thought resentfully, picturing his friend's face on the homemade punching bag.

A feral growl of discontent caressed his lips as he initiated a swift kick to the bag, exerting the extent of his frustration. He watched as the stuffing poured forth, littering the ground. He no such attempt to pick it up, so much as it just gave it a loathing kick, seeing his ex-friend's face on the remnants.

'Some friend that asshole is. He steals her right from under me nose and don't even give it a second thought. I don't get no fucking respect. I don't know what the hell she sees in him. He's jus' a fucking smartass.'

He was alone at the moment and felt it was fine to vent. He hadn't the faintest notion of the presence of anyone else in the area at the time. He turned in shock as he heard the delicate clearing of a voice, only to come face to face with Chelsea.

He blinked, staring dumbly at her for a minute before replying, "whatcha doin' here anyways?! Comin' to tell me I ain't good enough for ya and that yer gonna go out with that worthless asshole instead?!"

She stopped, looking a taken back by his harsh unexpected statements laced and poisoned by pure contempt. She said nothing, just kept her eyes trained on him as she tried to find the words to reply to such a challenge.

"No… No I didn't, Brennan." She replied, her russet hair falling in her face, despite being tied back in a stern bun. Loose bang cascaded down, acting as a veil over her eyes, as to hide what she was feeling.

Wringing her hands nervously, she found herself lacking the confidence to gaze up at him as she spoke. "I…"  
  
"You what?!" He snapped, turning sharply, his fiery red short yet unkempt hair whipping around. He pushed obtrusive bangs from his face.

"I…" She hesitated again, unable to speak, as his temper, as calm as it was at this stage, was frightening her. She didn't know how to deal and sighed softly, her fear being masked, but only for so long.

She suddenly felt as young as her age. The warmth on her foot, hidden beneath her shoe, had vanished, leaving her stranded with what the Lord had given her and not Suzaku. The faint red glow beneath the thin sheer ration-issued nylons was no longer there.

Brennan cast an impatient glance her way. "I'm waitin' fer an answer!" he growled. It wasn't that he hated her; he loved her with his heart. What he didn't like was the fact that she seemingly liked his friend. Also, her lack of available answer to compensate for her reasons contributed to his blatant frustration and anger.

"It's… It's not that I don't like you, it's just that you're not what I'm looking for. You're very nice and kind, but you're an utter dull being when it comes to adventure. Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean I want to go to musicals or the opera." Chelsea explained, wringing her hands, as she refused to meet his gaze.

"You don't have the fire you did before…" She added after a moment's hesitation in thought.

He grunted curtly, as a derisive snort escaped him. Such a ludicrous answer, how utterly paltry; how dare she insult him with such ridiculous reasons. He boiled over in rage at the thought that she thought him boring, dull, a justified reason to turn to Séamus for a date and escort.

"I am like that, I jus' don't gotta do that. Maybe I got class this time and wanna do something more than rowdy adventures. I don't care if it's bloody borin'! I still got the fire, but ya ain't patient!" Brennan retorted, quickly searching for answers in his head. He knew his answer wasn't all that sufficient, but he had to get her to stop being supposedly irrational and back with him.

He did the next best thing he could think of. He knew Chelsea was the former Suzaku Seishi, Chiriko. He knew his friend was a Seiryuu Seishi, though which one was hard, since he hadn't seen examples of powers yet. He made the choice to fire this at her, hoping to get her to see reason and hear of rationality.

"I'm sorry, Brennan." Chelsea rested her hand on his arm, speaking before he had a chance to form the second part of his protest. "But I would only want us to be friends."

"Why the bloody hell do ya have to go and let some scum escort ya when ya can have better!" He demanded scathingly, his eyes quivering in pain from her rejection of him. He didn't want to give her up. There had to be a way…

"Chelsea! Give me another chance, please?! I'll do the mission as ya asked me to! I don't care, anything to get ya to love me and be mine!" He pleaded, taking her hands in his, staring pleading into her eyes.

She regretfully shrugged off his touch. "I appreciate what you're offering, Brennan. I do want you to help, but I still only want you as a friend." She offered him a small, sad smile as she pulled away from him.

"I'm not going to let you go. I refuse to let Kennedy have you for his own. You belong to me and we deserve to be together. Please…"

"I already said I'm sorry."

"Chiriko!"

She stopped. She said nothing for a minute. It had been the first time in this life she had been addressed in a formal manner and at that, by her Seishi name. She didn't know how to react to it.

Taking her shock to his advantage, Brennan reached out, seizing Chelsea's wrist. "I said I'm not letting ya go 'til yer mine. I love you."

A small gasp left her. He cared about her that much as to the point where he loved her. This was a first for her. No one had ever confessed such feelings to her. A modest blush crept revealingly over her nose bridge and cheeks.

~~~~

He stood outside the small house, his penetrating gaze rested on it. He didn't trust the three youth, for they conducted such suspicious activity. They were slowly forming a group that followed the lines of dissent. He wouldn't allow it. He had seen them acting by alone many times. He didn't have any proof, but he had a natural instinct, almost animalistic in nature that told him otherwise.

A feral growl escaped the tall Gestapo officer, Aaron Schnip, as he watched the bustling activity in the small house. His gaze rested upon the three youth. He slowly contemplated their deaths, for all three would be executed in time. They would no longer perform such operations in on his shift. He then in turn would be rewarded for his prompt note of such lack of conformity.

He had been to the place earlier. He saw the makeshift radio. He believed he had heard code names being used. He thought that the papers spoke of traitorous activity that was carefully being planned and to be executed at the right moment.

His tongue moved out to moisten his lips. Soon the three would be at his mercy and he wouldn't let them have a trial. Even if he did, it would be paltry, as such disloyal beings didn't deserve a chance to live in the perfect Reich that had been created. They deserved worst than the harbingers of doom that were holed up in the concentration and death camps.

He had three names: Elisabet Schuldich, Theodor Dietrich and Nickolaus Wendell. He had acquired the names in one of his earlier check-ups, or rather surprise moves to make sure that the rule of the _Führer_ wasn't opposed in any way shape or form.

Not trusting the youths to behave, Aaron made it a frequent pastime of his to spy on them. He wanted to catch them, for he loathed them. They didn't fit the perfect description of those who were Aryan. They were inferior beings. They weren't quite befitting of the portrait of what a member of the Jewry was, but they were close.

'One false move. No, it'll be sooner because I don't trust any of you.' He thought, casually walking out of his hiding spot. He glanced around, then motioned for the other officers, who were patrolling the area to step forth for assignment.

He was the head of this faction of about fifty or so officers. On duty with him were maybe about fifteen. They were at his dispatch for anything that he needed. Right now, he needed for these men to come with him to arrest three youths that he didn't trust and were morally as well as culturally inferior in the face of normality.

He didn't have complete justifiable reasons for their arrest, so he would use their lack of proper roots to bring them to justice. He hoped that in arresting the three disloyal youths that he would find such strong evidence that he would kill them promptly and be done with it.

There was one problem, he hadn't counted on them having any form of supernatural strength or powers, like he did. He had a slight build, but had inhuman strength. It gave him a great advantage as a young man, for he was able to advance quickly through the ranks because he had both the appearance and ideal build for a person of Aryan descent.

It boosted his ego, making him arrogant in some ways, almost too much, for he thought too highly of himself. It would threaten him at a later time, but he felt that there was justice in that, for he had risen above the memories and dreams that came to him at night.

Whipping.

Abuse.

Loyalty.

Death.

Torture.

Pure animalistic desires.

Bloodlust.

All these were reoccurring themes in his dreams and kept surfacing in his mind and memories, as he slowly began to remember who he was. He kept feeling trapped in a body of a werewolf, with human intelligence, though sub-par the norm. He felt trapped as though a sideshow freak for the rank and file to gawk at in shock and laugh at.

He had to shake those bitter images and feelings. He did by being so self-assured. He did it by making himself more than he was and letting himself believe he was truly the best and that he was invincible, despite feeling the claw of death steal his life from him over and over again.

Images of the perfect epitome of an Aryan man; one who claims to have been from the Hin tribe, a hated group in Kutou, also flashed in Aaron's mind with his memories. He found himself loathing such images and had to stop himself from hating those around him for looking like that man: Nakago.

~~~~

Her mouth was stuck in a silent scream, as she felt tears run down her face in streaks. She had no voice left, as she used it crying out the name in fear. Her beloved had hit the ground, a bullet having penetrated his neck, killing him dead.

She felt so alone, so abandoned, especially now as she faced the men that were representatives of the emperor – the _Kempei__-tai_. She felt desolate and at wits end with no hope or prayer. Backing away, she swallowed hesitantly, wishing that she was dead or that she had her brother with her. But she knew she wouldn't because he had been recruited into the Imperial Army.

Crying out, feeling alone without Taka by her side to assure her, to give her strength, Miaka left herself at the mercy of the men, kneeling on the ground before them. She didn't want to, but she was alone and her protector had been killed before her. She didn't want to risk her life any more; all she wanted was peace.

'Suzaku, _onegai_! Help me…' She silently pleaded, quiet sobs escaping her, as she waiting for the verdict of her end to come. She wanted something to happen to stop the pain of the loss. It had been terrible enough when they had been separated because Miaka and Taka weren't from the same world. The pain was worse with the assistance of death to tear the lovers apart.

"_Onegai__… Atashi…atashi_… Don't make it worse." Miaka whispered, her body shaking, as she remained on her knees before the men, begging for mercy to be spared.

On her wrists were bracelets. She had been given them from the other world and they had come back with her, for Taiitsu-kun had permitted it. The bracelets were dormant at the time, though a small burst of red light caressed the identical items sitting on her wrists, beneath her silk kimono.

The men gaze at her, their lustful expressions concealed by the dark of the night. They have their own plans to deal with this young lady. They wished to not kill her, for most in the group are single. She had only followed her lover and was in no position to be executed for treason.

The first of the men bent down. He seized her by the front of her kimono first thrusting her onto her back, on the ground. His hand fondled her chest, tearing open the tightly tied kimono she wore.

Miaka cried out in shock from the move, for she hadn't expected such aggression. She didn't want to be subject to this; her friend had and she knew the incurring horrors that would be ensued in moments. Squirming, she tried to fight him off, but she was far too weak to get him off.

Due to her luck, the merciful Suzaku, the God of Love and Peace, came to her rescue, activating the bracelets she wore. The bracelets turned into braces that graced her with new profound strength. It gave her the strength that had been given to one of her best friends, Nuriko. She had been unable to find her friend in this world and was saddened to think Suzaku hadn't reincarnated the man.

With the braces serving her new strength and power against her assailants, she gave a hefty push, shoving the man off her and climbing promptly back to her feet. Closing her kimono, she backed away, her russet hair falling out of the immaculate buns, her eyes wild with fear.

When Miaka had knelt, she had done in begging for mercy. She wouldn't have done such an act if she had known she was in any form of danger. Now she knew for sure, she was either going to die or wind up at the mercy of a man who would treat her terribly.

She had only one thought: to end her life before someone else did. She would rather do that in honour than in disgrace.

Her eyes rested on the fallen form of Taka, as she made her choice.

The braces were still fully active. Lunging forward, she reached for a pistol that was being carried in the holster on the officer's hip, she aggressively drew it, after pushing him away from her. She didn't care – she would rather commit suicide than let anyone kill her or rape her.

Once more, a single shot was fired, as a body hit the ground.

From her temple spewed puss. It was a putrid white. It was plasma mixed with sticky red blood that rapidly trickled out in buckets. The blood ran down her temple, staining her pale skin and her silk kimono. No throbbing pain from the loss of blood lanced her body, for no pain could be felt in the finality of death.

The blood that left her body shone beneath the moon high in the sky. The red bodily fluids that were hers, slowly mixed and dried with the almost already dried ones of Taka. She had ensured she would die next to him, their blood joining for eternity.

TBC…


	23. Sensual Temptations

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 21**

The girl was indeed strange. She kept coming and going. She never seemed to have her mind made up. She seemed to be running from something, or so Jeremiah thought. The girl that had kissed him, proclaiming him to be another really ought to have been checked into booby hatchet; she really did take one fly around the cuckoo's nest.

He never did tell Séamus, as he had heard no mention of the girl from his twin. He knew his brother was the vocal type and would speak if there was something up. He had learnt that early on. He didn't have a problem with it, nor did he object to. He would wait for his twin to speak in due time. There was no need to bring up such things at this time.

The girl could be a rival. After all, he had seen the drawings his brother had done and the girl bore a striking resemblance to the one in the drawings. When asking his twin, he found out the girl was one of the figures in his brother's dreams. That and others we as well. The presence of the others in his brother's dreams didn't bother Jeremiah, so much as the ones of the girl.

Especially since he heard of emotions that his brother held for this girl. Yes, petty jealously was the best way to define it, but he had no other problems. If his brother didn't know, he was delighted. He would rather go along with Séamus to join a special task force going over to mainland Europe to free POWs, to make the work of the Allies easier than to ever let that girl come within feet of Séamus.

He once more, didn't tell this to his brother. Secrecy was no doubt his game and it was an easy one to play, so Jeremiah thought. Yes it was underhanded, but he hadn't been close to anyone and didn't quite feel like losing his brother to some foreign devil.

At this present moment, Jeremiah sat outside the military recruitment office, waiting for his brother. He was reluctant to join up, as he still had very bitter memories after being under the command of Captain JC Andreas. The other officer, Captain Russell Stonewall seemed far kinder and a better fit to command type of person.

Even at that, he had refused to go along, but had stated his brother was fit for the job, or at least for communications. He had that confidence fully embedded his in twin.

Sitting on the ledge, in front of a small garden maintained by ground workers, he rested his chin on his hand, watching some of the recruits initiating standard manoeuvres. It seemed simple. The Americans had been big on the elaborate and not the simple.

He still though couldn't imagine himself in it, despite the fact that the captain that tried to recruit him, was a kind and gentle man. He sighed, remembering what the captain had been like before…

He kept seeing a kind face, hearing a reassuring voice.

It gave him confidence. He could see why his reluctant twin did decide to help out. The former Suzaku Seishi, Hotohori had that air to him. It hadn't been lost with consequences of reincarnation.

Maybe it was a calling for him as well.

_I wish I had been born a Suzaku Seishi_.

The line echoed on an endless loop through his mind. He kept hearing his voice say it over and over again. They were undeniably his words; the words that determined just what he fought for, or rather wanted. In one word: peace.

Gazing up, he contemplated if this indeed is what he wanted…

"Lost in thought, are you, Jeremiah?!" Captain Stonewall asked sweetly, coming up to the lad, taking a seat next to him.

"Aye, sir."

"It's a fine day, is it not?!"

"It is. It's also a very nicely kept set of grounds that the recruitment office has, sir."

"Our gardeners are the best. This is part of the Majesty's forces and we like to keep it up to par, as per his majesty's desires."

Nodding, Jeremiah turned his attention back ahead, training it on nothing in particular. He found contentment in just gazing at the sky, studying the clouds. They had no shape to them really, they were very boring.

Slowly, only to his eyes, did they take a distinctive shape. It was that of Seiryuu, followed by the cold face of the shogun that once ruled his life. Jeremiah's eyes narrowed in bitter contempt for the memory.

'No, you won't control me this time.'

"Sir, where is my brother?"

"He's talking to Miss Llwellyn, who is giving him recruitment forms for the special task force that we're putting together." Captain Stonewall explained, turning a gaze to the young man, smiling warmly.

"Thank you."

Turning on his heel, he ran for the building where Séamus had gone. He too was going to sign away his freedom. He wasn't going to let anyone stopped him from doing what he wanted to do in the name of peace.

~~~~

She sat acquiescently, facing the lieutenant. She had heard his threats and knew that he was dead serious and there was no disputing that small fact. She just had to find a way of getting out of this interrogation, but right now, she was at a loss.

"Aimée, how delightful of you to wait for me." Lieutenant Van Eyke quipped happily, walking in, dressed in slightly loose fitting nightwear.

He had changed in something that was more comfortable. The robe loosely caressed his lithe figure, showing off his slender, elegant build. Under he wore next to nothing. This he knew always unnerved her, even if he didn't strip. Though tonight likely would be different. He had her at his mercy and now he would have her.

Aimée glanced up at him, as he entered. He was quite fond of that robe as he wore it frequently during their nightly encounters. She feared it would fall off, or he would take it off. She certainly didn't want to cater any sexual favours to him.

She gave a cursory derisive snort in reply to his statement.

"Such fire is utterly becoming, Aimée." He whispered, moving over to her, cupping her chin between his index finger and thumb. "I do look forward to our evening."

"I hardly do, lieutenant."

"Please, no need for formalities." He purred, his lips brushing hers. He smiled at her stiffness. "Please, call me Johan."

"And if I don't?!" Aimée challenged coldly, her grey eyes resentfully fixated on his deep golden ones.

"I'll give you plenty of reasons. For one, it's far nicer to hear you call me such things. You wouldn't hesitate if it was your beloved Nakago." The former Seiryuu Seishi Tomo purred huskily. "Second, you are sitting pretty, so why not finish off the image by being ladylike, my dear?!"

"Why would I want to, you cold-hearted snake?!" She bit out scathingly. "You have done nothing to deserve such things!"

"You may think so, but I'm protecting you from reality. You know that Nakago never liked you, he just used your body, treated you like the little whore you acted like, selling your body to him at no cost."

"That's such bluff! He never was one of such a kind!"

He just smiled, a small cackle caressing his lips. "Tsk…tsk, so pretty, yet so naïve. Nakago only loved himself. He never liked any of us. He only took pity on you. He took pity on Seiryuu no Miko. He just wanted to conquer the world that hurt him. He never wanted you, just your prostitution services that so you willingly dished out on a silver platter for him.

"Also, I'm protecting you from the reality of this world. No one wants such a wise woman who speaks her mind so freely, they want a docile little girl to be a good housewife and bearer of the children. You have fire for an affair, but you're not the ideal material for what a man looks for in a wife. That I'm protecting you from, that and your naïveté, the illusions and delusions of reality that you have woven.

"You're trapped in an illusion." He stated simply in conclusion, cupping his mouth over hers, stealing a deep, lingering kiss.

Aimée didn't fight back, for she knew there were repercussions for such things. She wanted to work with the group she had created, but the problem was the lieutenant knew. The only way to keep him silent was to become a mistress of sorts.

As a result, she felt so dirty. She had no one to turn to for comfort. She had been forbidden from speaking of the affair, for it would be scandalous. It was taboo for a German officer to be in such relations; to fraternise with the conquered women, making one their booty.

She knew she could ruin him, but he had said she could go on and do that, if she didn't care about her bosom sisters. She did and deeply, hence, her willingness to go along with this. At first, she believed it was nothing short of just a means of controlling her. She soon discovered it was more than that.

He liked her. It was that simple.

She of course, was incredulous. There as no way that he had. It was a façade as far as she was concerned. But she didn't know if it truly was. He didn't speak to her in such a condescending manner as he had in the other life.

Brushing his lips over hers, his eyes forcefully penetrated hers. "You're not worthy of him, for he never was of any value to us. He was just there as Seiryuu's main powerhouse, nothing more. Just a small accessory, no other purpose in life other than to serve Seiryuu as such."

He stroked a hand over her cheek. "Your obstinacy is very arousing, enticing. You refuse me so oft, you try to discourage me, but you won't, just give. You're too fiery for the inferior frogs here."

His hand traced up her body, unbuttoning her blouse, despite her protests, demanding that he stop this instant. Kissing her, he smiled a strange half smile, asking her exactly why she didn't want to feel loved. 

"Yes, why don't you want to be loved? Do you want the same cold strict relationship you had with Nakago? Do you get a masochistic pleasure from it?!"

He continued to strip off her blouse, pulling it completely from her shoulders, despite her evidence rejections of his advances. Once more, he soothed her.

"Honestly, have you ever felt loved? Ever wanted to know what it feels like to be part of a pair instead of the dispenser, giving out the service? You probably can only imagine what true affection and love feels like."

Brushing hair from her face, he whispered against her ear, a grin over his expression at her stubbornness, "how can you say it doesn't feel nice to have someone touch you like this and not desire you to sell your body?! For once you feel the need to go with what your heart desires and mind, instead of just one, leading you to let your body to be used?!"

He certainly was challenging. That she noted quickly.

She wanted what he was going to show her, yet, it felt wrong. It was Tomo, after all, and she was Soi. There was no justification for the union between them. She had been eternally there for Nakago.

Something else clicked in her mind, was what the former Seiryuu Seishi Tomo had said, true?! Had Nakago only needed her for personal gain, just like with all the other Seishi?

Images of her past life flashed vividly before her eyes; memories flared to life, as instances with the man she was waiting for and had loved came to light. She had never before paid much attention, for she had been blinded by faithful love:

_Ashitare, loyal and faithful was slain after returning with the Shinzahou_…

_Amiboshi's 'death' written off as nothing_...

_The cold expression as she faces rejection_…

_The confession of love toward the Seiryuu no Miko_…

_The talk of having god-like powers_…

She sighed, no words of love being confessed to her. She opened her eyes, not feeling his hands on her in a loving way. She drank in her settings, not seeing a loving expression. She had been trapped in blindness.

She blinked, staring at Lieutenant Van Eyke, or rather Johan. They had been in the same location for months now. True there had been contempt at first, especially on his part. There were even threats. But she hadn't realised what had exactly happened, his true reasons for making her come every night.

The first few nights had been filled with animosity and threats, as well as him making her feel very uncomfortable. Slowly, as the weeks past, he had stopped that, and took to trying to convince her that she didn't love Nakago and had only done what she had because she thought like a prostitute.

The last few nights had been interesting, as Johan had been surprising gentle, though very forward and curt in his actions. He had made it obvious what he wanted. What he wanted was her.

Maybe this was different…

Reluctantly, she allowed for him to strip off the blouse she wore, revealing the tight brassier she wore. Pulling it off, she watched him take the blouse off her body, revealing her bra and the top of the skirt. Eventually, the skirt that she wore was added to the pile. Her garments were divested in a furry, but rather slowly, as he showed how gentle he could be.

This love he held for her, had at first had strings, meaning she had to behave and do what he wanted, or her colleagues would be in danger. Now, for him, it wasn't such, nonetheless, he hadn't lifted his threat. He liked that one control he had, enough the rest of his emotions, feeling and desires were pure and genuine.

With her just in her undergarments, Johan pushed her gently back on the bed, as he stood back, pulling the robe off his lithe body, revealing from underneath a muscular build. His stomach was flat, his chest rippling with muscles, though not bulging. His legs were well toned and long. His skin tone was even throughout; flawless.

He wore nothing under the robe. It had been customary on other nights that he might have something under. Tonight had been different, he had a form of confidence that he would get her. He knew Nakago, or Captain JC Andreas, was on the allies side and not of value to him. He also knew it would be easy to manipulate Aimée to be his, thinking that Nakago truly didn't care.

That he didn't know for certain. What he did know was that he could mess and screw around with what her perception was and mould her mind to believe what he wanted her to. He did think her a valuable ally when she had nothing to rival him for.

Turning back to her, the robe in a sensual puddle at his feet, he slithered over, taking her shoulders, pushing her down onto the bed, as small as it was. Gingerly, he touched a hand to her chest, caressing the area where the clasp was. Prying it apart, he removed it from her body, before dropping it into an unceremonious pile on the ground. The same applies for the girdle, which he divested swiftly from her body.

With her beneath him, lying so prone, her burgundy hair fanned out, giving her an air of innocence, he smiled. It was a strange self-assured half-smile. She didn't know what to read into it, nor have much time to read into it, before his mouth swiftly captured hers in a fiery kiss.

Johan was aware that perhaps he had muddled with her mind, making her believe what might now be true. He didn't think twice on that however, since it wasn't of importance. What mattered was he had what his enemy would want. He hadn't taken it in cold-heartedness, he had done it with her being willing. While it was true that she was highly uninformed, she had consented and was ready to participate in this and not for any sexual favours, but to learn what a loving touch was.

Included was the gently preparation so she wouldn't cry in pain at the initial penetration into her virginal passage. He had pulled out a small vile filled with oil. He intended to use it as a lubricant, which he did. First, he coated his fingers in it, after pulling his mouth from hers.

With his fingers slick in the lubricating oil, he gently parted her entrance, working both fingers in, as she cried out. Her cries echoed in both were in pain and ecstasy. She wanted to cry and sob – beg him to end the pain. When he withdrew his fingers, she whimpered, wanting to feel complete.

Coating his erect member, he cast a sly glance her way, before straddling her hips, penetrating the virginal passage that was pure and untouched before him. He was claiming the virtue of the former Seiryuu Seishi Soi, the virtue that his enemy, Nakago, would never have.

With his hands braced against her shoulders, he gently thrust into her body, only moving harder and faster, as her moans, mews and cries called for it. His thrusts into her slender body were rhythmic, steady and consistent. He didn't push her further than he judged. Her body was still young and had to not be exploited. He wanted her both as an ally and his better half.

He didn't withdraw.

Her moans of ecstasy became louder, as she thrashed beneath him, arching into him, forcing him to plunge further and deeper. Her body was glistening in perspiration, as she bucked up into him, her body demanding more.

From his brow dripped equal amounts of moisture. From the bridge of his nose, beads of perspiration trickled down. His breath was raspy, as he pushed further and deeper into her body. He had gone as far as he could, still pushing. Yet, this didn't seem to be enough for her, as she moaned for more, crying out his name.

Finally, against her body, his heated climax claiming him, he cried out her name, dropping his seed into her body. He then fell on her, his sweat-laden form pressing down on hers, suctioning their bodies together in a sensual fashion.

She dropped her head back onto the bed, her pupils dilated in rapture. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as she tried to regain her breath. She didn't notice his head resting on her chest, listening to her rapid heartbeat, as they cooled from the few moments of heated passion.

~~~~

**Author's Notes**: I'm amazed, two chapters in one day. I'm on a roll here. But it's a good thing because I'm making up for lost time. I'll try and make sure I don't become lax in putting out the chapters. But I'm writing again, which is good.

I know, strange pairing, but we already have other odd pairings, so I'm not hesitant to include another. It's also time I gave the rating something worthwhile. I had been wanting to put in a sex scene with Tomo and Soi, but I didn't want it to be a rape one, so I had to justify the reasons. This also is going to let me have fun in future chapters when Nakago does meet up with them.

As for the previous chapter: I only had suicide in the end of it because it was part of the plot. I don't condone it. I condemn it because it's the coward's way out. It's only a plot device.


	24. Scales of Justice

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 22**

He had operated in peace; the monk that had frequently given him sceptical glances seemed to have fallen off the face of the earth. That didn't bother Wherther much, for he didn't care much for the intrusive monk anyway.

It allowed for him to work uninterrupted. It was quite to his liking. However, out of paranoid reflex, he found himself frequently glancing over his shoulder, as he relayed information he had gathered.

Like now, he had to glance over his shoulder before he took out notes from his latest espionage sortie. He didn't need the risk of having anyone discover quite yet what he was up to. He had highly sensitive information he was lucky as hell to have got his hands on.

He was looking over his notes, refreshing his memory before he tried to make another call over the makeshift radio to Lieutenant Van Eyke, who he was gathering information for. He had expected the Lieutenant to not cut him off, yet it frequently seemed to be happening and after being dismissed for interrupting the man, as he spoke to an obviously French girl.

He gritted his teeth in frustration to that. Here, he had the finest information around and his superior was dismissing him for some bitch.

'Fine, we'll see how you react when the special task force does attack.' He growled to himself, unaware that he was being watched at this moment.

In the shadows of the archway stood the monk, Marcus Faulkner.

Bushing bangs back from his face, he entered the room, solemnly watching the man, whom he had confirmed his suspicions of. He moved in stealthily silence, only making his presence known with the clearing of his throat.

Wherther jumped in shock, turning to face the intruder, a feral snarl escaping him at the sight of the monk.

~~~~

It was the height of night that blanketed the bleak ghetto holding prisoner thousands of members of the Austrian Jewish community. In this night, not a sound of life could be heard, only the faint rustle of leaves of trees that were far off and the musical chirp of crickets.

The on duty deployment of SS Officers patrolled the streets in a mechanical manner, their boots clicking over the cobblestone roads. There was a dull rhythmic beat to it, indicting deathly conformity. No one foot hit the pathway through the ghetto when another didn't. The movement of the officers seemed almost choreographed to the point of having them all walk at the same pace, though not travelling in a tightly knit wolf pack.

The hypnotic rhythmic beat of their feet kept sleep from reaching Achan. He lay awake on the scantly excuse for a beat. Normally he would have quickly left this world for the more comforting solace of never-never land. Instead, he lay away on the concrete block, hay serving as his mattress, for the Nazis had stripped the ghetto of all comforts and luxuries.

He sighed, turning to look out the dirtied window, seeing only a hazy version of the velvet night sky above. He saw the faint and far away lights of the moon, and no stars. On nights where he didn't fall asleep, he would search the sky for his constellation, as well as his sister's.

Turning over, he poked his sister. "Arielle. Arielle." He repeated her name, only to get a grunt and no other particularly significant reply. Growling, he then smirked, letting little icicles grow off the end of her nose.

"HEY!!" She woke up with a start, batting the offending freezing items from her nose, turning a death glare on her younger brother. "What's your problem?!"

"Nothing. I just can't sleep and I feel like something's going to happen." Achan whispered, grabbing his sister's arm.

Rushing his hair soothingly, Arielle sighed. "We know something will, but when and what we don't know. We'll never know. We can only pray to _Yahweh_1 that this will only end soon and that that awful _Führer_ will be struck down by his hand."

"I hope you're right. But we can always wait for Mr Kepler to come through for us and get us those passports that he promised."

"I as well, though I don't place much confidence in him. For we don't know if he's going along with the Germans because of the Axis alliance, or because of the _Anschluss_2 that they formed with our country."

Achan nodded solemnly, turning to look out the window again.

~~~~

Confidently, Captain Andreas held the recruitment papers, glancing over the list of the men that recently joined. He sighed, no one of real value. He needed men that had assets that could contribute to the special task force that was being created. So far, he found nothing.

He hadn't noticed the stray page sitting alone. The open window blew the page his way, so it was sitting on a pile of scattered papers. Taking it, he gave it a cursory glance over. The young man had slanted writing, showing that he was evidently left-handed. The captain didn't think much of that. He did however take note of the young man's skills that had been noted.

'So, he's one of the boys that Chelsea talked of that were with the IRA. How lovely that we get a man with talent.' He thought, a cold smile caressing his features. 'It would be nice to meet the lad in person instead of judging by what is written here.'

Placing the page down, he noticed that there was a second page stapled to the application. Turning over the page, his eyes imperturbably scanned the page. A thin inimical smile crept over his lips. So, there was more to the lad than what he had expected. Perhaps there was going to be something of value contributed to this task force. 

True enough he had lost a kid with skill, but now, he had a boy with even more skill, one that could be nourished both negatively and positively. He had more to work with here than he had with the other boy. This kid probably had inert powers that had yet to flourish. It would be of great value if he could mould the youth.

'Yes, so instead of Amiboshi, I get Suboshi to work with. It's just as well. He didn't fail me before, and the other did.' Captain Andreas reasoned glacially. He sat back, once more taking a thorough look over the forms.

Standing in the doorway, facing him was Captain Stonewall. "So, thinking about how you can exploit these young men in order to meet your goals?!"

"No, I'm thinking of how I can turn the inert powers of one of the new recruits into something that is usable on the special task force."

"You still sound like you're withholding details. Do tell, as I'm also running this special task force." He replied, walking in, curtly plucking the paper from his colleague's grasp, his eyes scanning the page.

"So, you've recruited reincarnations." It was more a statement of facts than a question on the part of the captain. "Sure you're not going to exploit the young man like you did in your other life?!"

"Perish the thought, Stonewall. I merely plan on nourishing what powers the boy has and the inert ones that he harbours."

"So, mould him into something for your own ends?!"

"You make it sound like such a vile thing."

~~~~

The lips of the Gestapo officer twisted into a sadistic smirk. It was time to take those three youths. He didn't have to have reason, just a suspicion of dissent because they weren't part of the master race. They would be thoroughly eliminated and their activities publicised so no other would consider such illicit things in protest to the _Führer's_ unquestionable and destined leadership.

Aaron himself once had had the pleasure of meeting the man. He had been wooed and felt an undying faith, for the man highlighted what was important in life. He felt that this man could do no wrong; that those that opposed him were wrong.

He was ready to take the youths.

With his men at his beck and call, he knocked down the door, facing three stunned youths.  
  
They didn't have time to reply, before six Gestapo officers hurried in, curtly placing all three young persons under arrest. The three youths were addressed by the head of the officers, Aaron: "I'm Officer Aaron Schnip, and I hereby place you three, Elisabet Schuldich, Theodor Dietrich and Nickolaus Wendell under arrest for suspicious activity. You have the right to remain silent and anything you say or do will be held against you in your trial to determine if you are indeed worthy of staying in the _Führer's_ country. Consider yourselves lucky that you're even being given such a chance.

"Take them away." He barked his order at his men.

Watching in lascivious satisfaction, he smirked, watching the three being escorted out before they had a chance to even retort what was happening to them. But it was just as well, they didn't deserve to live. After all, they were inferior.

His hand landed on some papers. His eyes calmly caressed the pages, reading the evidence. He couldn't help but to smile. He had complete proof of his suspicions. They were indeed planning dissent. It hadn't been his imagination.

He picked up and pocketed it. Such deliciously, incriminating evidence it was. How proud of him his superior would be. It would be nice to receive praise for his work. It had been so long since he had.

The silence was shattered.

The loud voice of Theodor protesting the arrest, claiming it was hardly justified and that there wasn't any justification for this, had made his case known and had broken the quietude. Aaron watched as the boy fought. His eyes widened, for the boy wasn't as slight as he seemed, in fact, he had even got out of the shackles.

Growling, he ran out, forgetting the papers he had just pocketed and the sense of self-inflation, he found himself relishing in. Drawing his Gestapo issued pistol and ran after the boy, that had taunted some of the officers.

He stopped in his tracks, watching in horror as the boy teleported and two of his men dropped dead. The weapon had been nothing more than the shackles.

Following the line of pursuit of his friend, the second boy, Nickolaus, had summoned up vines, effective trapping two more officers. He then used the thorns of his vines to pick the locks free. He now too was free, the only one who wasn't, but seconds later was, was Elisabet.

This was no good. Lunging forward, Aaron gasped, as something struck him. He didn't know what it was, nor did he have time to realise exactly what had happened to him in that one minute of uncertainty. All he knew was that something impaled him.

What he didn't know was that he lay static on the ground, a gaping hole in his chest, his flesh torn by the thorns of Nickolaus' vines. He bled profusely from the open wound. His eyes were open side, all life drained from his pallor. He lay, his blood forming a puddle of fluids.

There was a tense moment before his hand twitched.

Elisabet gasped and cried out. Holding Theodor she turned her face away. "Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god…" She shook. "He's dead, but…his hand moved!"

Even Nickolaus was shocked. He could have sworn he had just killed the Gestapo officer. But he didn't want to believe what he was seeing. True enough, he was seeing the man lying in a putrid smelling cesspool of festering scarlet blood. That he believed. He couldn't believe that the hand of the officer had moved.

Lest expected to be shocked were the other Gestapo officers. They had turned to seize the youths, but had their attention turned when Aaron Schnip was knocked to the ground, dead as night. He bled, there was no doubt about that, but they stared incredulously as his fingers and hands twitched.

~~~~

  
"You know, you're not exactly concealing yourself by acting like this. You're much entirely too paranoid. I should have stopped your actions far sooner, yet, I found myself not catching you at the appropriate time." Father Faulkner remarked, standing in the archway, watching Wherther with narrowed eyes.

"Damn you…" The German spy growled scathingly. He turned, reaching for something, anything. He didn't want his work to be stopped at any time. He was getting slow to being successful and didn't feel like succumbing to failure at this time.

"Curse me all you want, but you're going to pay for your demonic aura that has brought a curse unto my Cathedral!" Father Faulkner exclaimed coldly, moving in for the intruder.

Hardly phased by the threats of the priest. Whether carefully put his papers away. He would give them to Lieutenant Van Eyke on another day. Right now, he had more concerns, he had to get rid of the annoying monk.

He kept his back to the monk for a moment, but that was the worst mistake he could have ever made. He made the error of underestimating the monk and what he could do. He knew next to nothing of what this monk was…

He turned, to see the monk clasping his hands in prayer, holding rosary beads. He didn't have time to tune into the words of the chant, before the windows barred over and the door bolted shut. Through the area, hymns of heaven chimed, angelic voices cried down, as spirits of the blessed and sanctified danced.

"You're eternally damned…" The father declared, a white light coming to surround him. However, he hadn't counted on the white light becoming something of a brilliant red light. On his knee converged a warmth...

He opened his eyes, strong conviction filling them. "You have always been, Miboshi."

The monk had no reason why he had uttered that name, it just seemed fitting for the type of person that this German was. Certainly nothing less, but certainly something more. He didn't associate it with possible memories. After all, reincarnation was reserved only for the Lord's saints and angels who were to overlook the safety of the earth.

~~~~

The twitching hand of the dead Gestapo officer was a sign that should have been heeded, but it wasn't. In minutes, from the fallen body emerged a wolf like creature. It stared around, a growl leaving him. His eyes were identical to Aaron's.

The creature seemed to have a sense of human intelligence to it as it didn't go after the other frantically scattering Gestapo officers, instead, it launched itself at the three youths. Its claws and teeth were bared for the world to see, as a feral growl escape him, salvia seeping from his jaw, making it appear almost rabid.

The three hadn't time to react, for fear consumed them all. Quickly, each fell victim to the animal. They were each treated the same, as a snack. Their limbs were violently torn from their bodies, strings of muscles and guts spewing out of the openings. Out of those openings also trickled out blood, forming puddles around each of the fallen bodies.

There was no respect for the three, for their bodies were castrated. Even decapitated in cold bloodlust. The wolf had no mercy and had torn the three apart, leaving nothing salvageable for burial, that was, if there was to be one. The extremities, the limbs were scattered over the rain-covered ground. 

The blood of the fallen stained the small puddles of water that lay, drying on the ground. The fallen themselves were no longer whole, their bodies each torn apart. Arms lay listlessly around, legs were mangled, maimed and twisted, as though gnawed on as a chew toy. The heads of each of the three young persons hadn't been spared either.

Each had raw bone showing through the savagely ripped and shredded flesh of their faces, and temples… The hair that was once on their heads; their skulls and flesh, lay in lifeless clumps with bloodied lumps of flesh still attached to them. The oozing flesh of their brains, because of the ripped and torn skulls was being littered over the street.

Unable to handle it any more, one of the officers, wielding a pistol in a shaking hand, aimed and fired. He shot four unsuccessful bullets before the fifth and sixth ones penetrated the skull of the wolf.

Breathing heavily, they gazed at the damage, unable to comprehend had just happened. The sight was vile; revolting. At least two of the officers had to turn, retching, as one hurl up, puking on the ground. Up came his lunch, the half-digested particles were spewed on the street, followed with stomach acid. 

The putrid stench rancidity invaded the senses of the other officers, who had to back away in order to hold down their lunch. They were having enough trouble already with the smell of rotting corpses littering the ground, festering with bacteria and soon to be crawling with maggots. 

No one wanted to touch these bodies to bring sanitation to the streets, but they knew that someone was going to have to clean this up and explain what happened…

~~~~

Notes:

1_. Yahweh _- this is the Jewish God. It's the same as the Christian God, Our Lord.

2_. Anschluss_ - This is 'union' and it refers to when Germany declared a 'union' with Austria.

3_. Führer _- we all know which asshole this refers to. It was just a common term to use at the time.

**Author's Notes**: I'm aware of how revolting some of the descriptions are at times, for I know some of my friends, whom I have tested sections on have responded by saying it's gross. I'm only using vivid and graphic descriptions because it's the way I write. I think for the most part, this is pretty accurate in parts in terms of how I refer to historical events and figures. I hope that you people have enjoyed it so far. It's far from done, but we're getting close. I won't predict any number of chapters, because there is a lot of plot that has gone unfilled as of yet. Don't forget to R&R!!


	25. A Righted Wrong

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 23**

The cold icy blue eyes of the German spy were turned toward the monk.  His lip curled into a twisted smirk.  The monk was truly easy to rile.  It was going to prove amusing to listen to the monk damn him.

"Why Father Faulkner, I haven't the faintest idea of what you talk of." Agent Yorck purred, his thick German accent changing the tone on his spoken English.  His icy blue eyes twinkled in the light of the candle.

"You know full well what I speak of, you creature of the night!" Father Marcus Faulkner scathingly seethed, tightly clutching his rosary beads in hand.  The hand that clutched the beads remained hidden under his drab covering.

Turning, his short blonde hair falling in his eyes, Agent Yorck all but laughed maniacally in the monk's face.  The blue haired monk was quite amusing.  A cold smirk crossed the agent's lips.  He remembered this monk - one of the losers spawned of the over grown chicken of doom.

"You're utterly droll.  It's very amusing." The agent drawled, standing up.  "You know, Chichiri, I'm not surprised to find we're on rival teams again."

"Miboshi." Father Faulkner hissed, his eyes narrowing in contempt.  He should have known the former demonic child-possessing Seishi would come back in this form to haunt him, always as a monk.  It was truly sad.

He bristled in hatred at the thought of the former Seiryuu Seishi being here.  Of course, it figured that this former Seiryuu Seishi was now a Nazi-German.  It didn't surprise the priest to say the least.

He then took out his rosary beads, muttering a prayer that seemed all too familiar to him yet unbecoming and unholy.

Yorck was enjoying this far too much; after all, this fumbling monk was one of his former enemies.  It seemed all too suitable that they should be on the opposite sides again.  He had known that they were since arriving at the monastery.

"I'm going to assume that you foolishly wish to battle it out again?  It's a shame that Chiriko isn't around, it would be quite fun kill the child again." The cold laugh came.

Oh how it enraged Father Faulkner.  His eyes shot open, wide with such flaming raging hatred.  His short blue hair, shot out, his bangs gained length.  His left eye became replaced with a painful scar and his billowing drab robes were replaced with colourful kesa, a loose fitting white shirt, long olive green pants and old style Chinese shoes.  The rosary beads in hand were replaced with the object he used to hold, the shakujo. 

All this in a brilliant flash of red light that shot up out of the floor with the squawk of a benevolent phoenix that flew up, dropping lightly raining sand grains.

Once this passed, Faulkner looked up, gazing at his hands before a satisfied smirk crossed his lips.  "It seems I'm back in true form, Miboshi."

"How…how can this be?!" the German spy sputtered indignantly.  Seiryuu did nothing for him.  He shunned each of the Seishi.

"I'm no longer in denial of the seemingly 'dark power' I felt in my blood.  I'm able to embrace my other life completely and accept that I'm not completely a servant of God, being able to call on the semi-godly powers that I was given as a Suzaku Seishi."

The German spy blinked.  "Yes…" his eye twitched.  He didn't want to deal with this; it was too weird for him.  He had always known the Suzaku Seishi to be a strange bunch.

He then shut his eyes, a cold smirk at this very point caressing his lips as it spread forth.  Two could indeed play this game.  He wasn't about to let the former Suzaku Seishi win.

Being elevated off the floor on will, he crossed his legs, a Buddhist prayer wheel materialising in hand, as well as prayer beads around his neck.  In place of the drab Franciscan monastery wear was now a simpler yet nicer robe that wrapped around the body with a sash.

He opened his eyes.  His once icy blue eyes were now replaced with demonical cat eyes, much like his old ones.  His blonde hair was still in place, neatly swept back.

"Ah, I feel better.  Now, shall we pick up where we left off, Chichiri?"  The former Seiryuu Seishi Miboshi purred scathingly.  "You fleeing from my monsters before that child…Chiriko…died utmost needlessly because you guys decided you didn't care about his life?!"

A soft menacing chuckle came from him.

Father Faulkner felt a shiver in his body.  It wasn't fear nor was it a chill; it was raw rage boiling in his blood.  This monster first had to be reborn now here he was, taunting him, Father Faulkner.  Actually, that wasn't what bothered Father Faulkner; it was more the reference to the youngest of the Suzaku Seishi, Chiriko who had died to save the others, that brought forth the lancing rage in the otherwise pacifistic monk.

Hefting the shakujo in hand, he turned an angered and cold glare on the German spy.  "We cared about his life.  He gave his life so we could fight the rest of your group without having to deal with your black magic."

"Say what you will, but you do feel the nagging guilt on the back of your neck for that, do you not?"

"Don't tell me about guilt until you've confessed to yours and atoned for it."

"I wasn't, I was merely asking if you did feel it.  The question is if you felt it, not if you had any." Agent Yorck retorted, staring oddly at the former Suzaku Seishi Chichiri.  He cleared his throat.  "But enough on that, you now know too much just by being present in here."

With that, he raised his prayer wheel, the wheels slowly turning and clicking as they picked up speed and momentum with the words that spewed forth in the form of an incantation from the one initiating it.  His eyes were closed while it slipped forth from his lips; they opened once more after it concluded.

Father Faulkner not about to be outdone also started the recitation of an incantation.  The difference was simply that his was for good intentions.

With the conclusion of the incantation, the priest glanced up, holding out the staff, a bright red aura encasing him protectively.    From the end of the staff pointing at his enemy, shot out a large brilliant scarlet red ball of electrified energy.

At the same precise moment, the German spy floated back gracefully, the prayer wheel in his hands still clicking as an azure aura encased him, one of his many monsters surfacing up from the floor to loyally assist him.  The first one summoned lunged at the enemy.  
  
Aiming the staff, the former Suzaku Seishi let loose a terrific chi blast requiring a lot of energy, thereby stunning the beast.  It didn't do much else, thus, the monk was forced to summon another blast of chi to kill off the beast in a burst of slime, guts and dust.  
  
"Is that the best you can do?"  Agent Yorck sneered.

Father Faulkner snorted derisively.  "It isn't.  I save my best for the finality of the battle when I shall send you to tell where you belong, you misbegotten satanic creature!"

"Then give it your best shot, for you don't know whence cometh the finality." The spy's slip twisted into a sneer, as he coldly stared down at his enemy, daring him to try something; anything.

Prophetic words, they were enough to bring a cold smirk to the lips of Father Faulkner.  "Anything you say.  I'll be glad to blow you off the face of God's earth into oblivion."

"I doubt that you could.  You and the rest of your motley crew didn't even stand a chance last time.  It took a young child to defeat me.  Your magic was paltry."

Those were the final words of the German spy as the priest lifted his staff, the ring jangling as they clicked together.   The spy would have no chance to speak another word for he didn't expect that the priest would actually call upon his deadliest weapon to vanquish the spy into nothingness.

He sighed, lowering the staff, his head hung as he stared at the floor for a moment, gathering his thoughts.  He was therefore unaware of the fact that he had been watched as he committed this so-called "act of evil".   He didn't think about it; he only reacted based upon what he felt, the gripping instinct of his pas bring this out of him more than his present life.  This act hadn't been an act of exorcism to purify the world; it had been an act of revenge in the name of a child who had died long ago.

"Brother Faulkner." 

The priest turned in time to see his superior standing there, a shock and repulsed look on his face.

"Father…"

"Brother, I have no choice but to defrock you for your actions.  You have no purity in your heart, you have brought evil with you and no exorcism could cure you now."

Marcus Faulkner hung his head in shame.  "I'm sorry Father."

He didn't know what else to do; he felt lost.

His chi calmed, his garb returning to normal.  Noticing this, he sighed softly and stripped off the robes he wore, down to wearing merely a white shirt and simply cotton pants.

"I…  I'll leave now."

Turning, he left the room, not turning back to note the condition that it had fallen into because of the fight with Miboshi.  His heart was too heavy as it was…

Wandering into a room at the back, he shut the door and knelt in front of a chest.  Unlatching it, he opened it and pulled out a neatly folded uniform.  Standing up, he let it tumble down, unfolding, mothballs rolling off.

He stared down at it for a minute before draping it over the chest and stripping off what he wore except for what was under.  Letting those garments fall to the floor, he took the uniform, and he put it on, everything right down to the boots.

Stepping back, he did up the belt once he had pulled all the parts from the chest.

Pivoting sharply, he stood rigidly, catching a glimpse of himself in a dusty mirror.  Curtly he saluted.

"Lieutenant Marcus Faulkner ready for service, sir!"

~~~~

A soft smile fell over the lips of General Marshall as he gazed over a telegram he held in hand from an old friend of his that had been in the same division as him in the Great War.  He remembered the man clearly…

In the trenches they had fought side by side.  Together they had seen their colleagues die needlessly at the hands of the faceless merciless Germans that had their hands on the worse imaginable weapons that could forever destroy mankind.  Together they had brushes with death and the bitter taste of loss.  But most importantly, they had been together on the day when the Germans surrendered, triggering the end of the Great War.

Following the end of Great War, the friends had parted with Dwight Marshall saying that he found his calling in the military and wished to stay aboard.  His friend, Marcus Faulkner sadly said that he didn't see his calling in the military and had chosen to rather pursue a life as a priest.  He had seen too much death and felt that mankind could be redeemed.

Dwight had merely nodded, asking if Marcus could keep in contact.  The friends had done that since 1918 when the Great War had ended; bringing a hope that it was the first and last trench war that would ever have to be fought in this life time.

They parted, Marcus heading off to become a priest, Dwight staying on with the army.   Despite not having seen each other for so long, they had maintained contact through telegrams.  With the commencement of the Second World War, Dwight hadn't noticed that the contact had dwindled between him and Marcus, until he received a telegram from his friend.

He had received it at the height of the war, when the bombings were most intense.  It was reassuring to know that his friend had a loyalty to the country that would drive him to give up priesthood.  He didn't know the full truth, but didn't think there was more.  After all, Marcus hadn't written much in the telegram that he sent to his friend in the early part of 1943.  

They message had been simple:

_General Dwight Marshall,_

_It has been quite some time since we've exchanged messages, but given the times at hand, it doesn't seem to be inappropriate that we haven't._

_Recently I have been defrocked for actions I cannot speak of, for they are too unreal even to me.  To make up for being defrocked and stripped of my position, I have reenlisted in the armed forces._

_I shall see you soon my friend._

_Sincerely,_

_Lt. Marcus Faulkner_

General Marshall held the telegram in hand still before placing it on his desk.  He sat back, clasping his hands over his lap.  'Once more friends shall be fighting side by side.  First as Seishi, then in the Great War and finally now.  Welcome back, Chichiri.'

_To be con't in Chapter 24…_

~~~

**Author's Note**: It has been a long time since I have updated my fanfic, but it doesn't mean that I have abandoned it.  I have been busy with school and didn't have much of a chance to touch it.  I have been slowly adding bits and pieces to it so that it hasn't been completely neglected.  I would like to than everyone who have been patient and to everyone who has given me encouragement.  I promise all you my readers that I shall finish this story.

Chapter 23 is what I consider that pivotal chapter in the story.  You should as well because after this point the characters will start to come together.  The plots will start to overlap.  I had separate stories, some that were meant to overlap, some to give the story a flavour sample of the time.  I hope that you all enjoyed it and will continue to read it.  I promise to continue until I finish it.


	26. Hell in Handbasket

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 24**

Sighing softly, pushing long strands of dirty blonde hair from his face, Séamus took the government issued ration book from the pocket of his jacket as he stood in line with the rank and file housewives who chittered and cackled like the hens they were.  He shuddered.  This was hell.

He fingered the book's cover before he flipped through it, gazing at the ration stamps.  There was an array of ration stamps in the book.  This one was for food products.  He had another one for gas, but had traded it for a carton of fags1 that he had stashed under his bed at home.  So, he just his food ration book.  It was starting to get near empty.  He guessed that he had maybe a few days left in before he would have to head over to the local office to get another one.

That was of course, if he wasn't called in for service.   He was still on the waiting list for a secret mission asking for able-bodied men who were up for a challenge.  He knew that it was a mission the armed forces weren't about to touch with a ten foot pole, or so he gathered from how Captain Andreas spoke.

He was surprised that his twin had been reluctant despite accepting the offer from Captain Stonewall.  It was the same offer, no difference.  Of course it could be that Jeremiah hated the blonde captain…  But still, old hatred shouldn't have such an affect when the lives of millions were at stake because of a blood-thirsty authoritarian dictator.

Staring at the book, a small smile fell over his lips.  He thought about that for a moment.  It did seem ironic that he, Séamus Kennedy, a strong loyal supporter and fighter for the IRA, an outright supporter of the Nazis were now turning against the Nazi regime, despite that it meant siding with the other enemy, the British and the Protestants.  It could be of course that this pairing was possibly the lesser of the two evils.

Also striking him as ironic was that his twin brother, Jeremiah didn't seem so willing to go along with this mission, despite that it was an attack on the enemy, using the resources of the allies, the ones fighting for the ideals of pacifism.

Maybe then again, Séamus reasoned, it was possible that the way that Jeremiah was raised reflected his slightly cynical and bitter outlook.  Further that the upbringing that his brother had also eroded the passion for pacifism and likewise that had resided in the heart and soul of the young man.

It did seem very ironic, just like the twists of the ever-quirky testy entity called "fate".

This little side-kick to life called fate had decided that at this very moment, it wanted to screw Séamus over royally by putting him in a less than pleasant situation by having him unintentionally crash into a young woman, carrying a small bad of goods as she turned to leave the shop.

The pair crashed into each other head on.

"Oh, sorry miss!" Séamus exclaimed, immediately dropping to his knees to gather up her package, as it was the proper thing for him to do, even if she had bumped into him and he wasn't at fault.

The young lady, a blonde damsel, namely Yui, who had encountered the mirror image of Séamus at an earlier time, watched the young man scurry to quickly ensure that her packages weren't damaged and that they were in proper order.

There was something decisively different about this young man.  He did indeed look like Jeremiah, but his aura was very different and he was much more courteous to her.

Was it possible that the one she had encountered earlier was Amiboshi…?  Did this mean that?

"Suboshi…" she whispered to herself in astonishment at the realisation that there were indeed two of them, that both of the twins had been reincarnated.

It seemed that he didn't hear her whisper, as he finished the quick gathering of her packages, and stood back up, handing them out to with a sweet smile.  "Sorry about that, miss.  I must've not been watching my step when I bumped into you."

"Thank you; you are most kind, sir." Yui replied, giving a nod of the head, careful to not let her background show through her actions.  She had a fairly good grip on her accent.  She seemed to just be an English speaker from the west.

"I'm not kind, I did bump into you, and so I hardly consider it kind.  I did what was expected of me and nothing less, miss." Séamus kept his eyes on the ground as he spoke.

"Would you be kid as you share your name, sir?"  Yui asked, hoping to every god and demi-god that this was indeed not Jeremiah.

"Aye, sorry miss, how rude of me."  Reaching out, Séamus took Yui's hand in his, kissing the top of it, as he brought her hand to his lips.  "I'm Séamus Kennedy.  And your name is…"

A slight blush crept over her cheeks at his actions.  This definitely wasn't Jeremiah by a long shot.  Even if he hadn't given her his name, she could assume from his actions that he wasn't the boy she had encountered earlier.

Clearing her throat, Yui replied, trying to control her voice, "I'm Yui…  Yui Hongou."  She made sure to give her name in the western style.  She didn't; no, she couldn't afford to make any enemies.

'Yui…'  The name seemed familiar to Séamus; it triggered something in his memory, but what?  Why was this name so familiar to him?  It seemed important, otherwise, why would he try and search his memory for something almost so insignificant?

Bringing his gaze up, he got a chance to study her up close for the first time, developing a mental picture of the beauty that stood before him.  The image before him seemed to have an image superimposed over it.  The two morphed together to form the one of the girl standing there…

Could it be?

"Yui…" He whispered in stunned shock.  It seemed almost too real to be true.  It was like out of his dreams, except set in the current time period as oppose to an Ancient Chinese setting.

She blinked at him.  Something twinkled in her eyes.  Was it fear?  Hope?  What was it?  Séamus couldn't place his finger on it as he continued to stare, his heart skipping a beat as he stared into those temptress eyes, gently seducing him.

He swallowed.  Reaching out, he took the packages from her.  "Miss Hongou, shall I escort you to where you're living or staying, as circumstances permit?"  He wanted to stay with her, hopefully solve what he was feeling and place the images that lanced through his mind, stunning his senses.

Yui was slightly taken aback when he removed the packages from her arms.  She found herself no longer in such a state as he proposed his offer.  She smiled and nodded, with a reply of yes.  She then linked her arm through his, resting her hand on his arm.

The pair walked along in silence, saying nothing.  Yet, it wasn't an awkward silence; it was fitting for them both.  It didn't bother either.

A few blocks later, Séamus veered off, guiding Yui over to a small fish and chips place.  "I'm hungry, would you like to join me dinner?"

"I've love to, sound divine!" Yui smiled up at the one she believed to be the boy who was once the Seiryuu Seishi Suboshi.  If she was so lucky, she had found the one she had believed she had forever lost to the claw grip of death.

Escorting her in, Séamus gave the packages and his coat over to the coat-room boy and accepted the tag, before he walked Yui over to the table they had been assigned to.  Pulling out a chair, he nodded, as she smiled up at him, sitting down.  As she sat, he pushed the chair in for her then took the spot across from her.

Clearing his throat, Séamus leaned forward.  "Miss Hongou, we haven't had much chance to speak yet, so how's before we order, we get to know each other?"  He gave a lopsided boyish grin.  'If you are who I think you are, we know each other…'

"It does seem appropriate Mr Kennedy." Yui replied, leaning forward, her hands clasped in front of her, resting against the edge of the table, her legs crossed one over the other in a ladylike fashion under the table.

His expression grew serious and he leaned in.  He whispered softly.  "Don't; think me mad as a hatter, Miss Hongou, but I believe we have met before, but not in this life."

Yui blinked.  Did he really think this?  It no longer seemed too good to be true that this young man was the former Seiryuu Seishi Suboshi.  A small knowing smile befell her lips as she listened to him.  Her heart leapt in secret joy.  The painful encountered with Jeremiah had been worth it to be able to have this one fateful meeting with the one she had been longing for since she had learned of his death, and when she had realised that she did indeed care deeply for the boy and loved him with every inch of her being, as he had with her.

She swallowed.  "You think so?  You believe so?  I know so."

Séamus blinked, staring hard at her.  "You don't think I'm mad?  You truly believe me, Miss Hongou?"

"Please, just call me Yui."

"Yui."

Smiling, she nodded.  She felt a warm feeling at the sound of his voice softly uttering her name, without any honorific.

There was now an awkward moment of silence before she decided to break it, with her own response of, "I do believe you when you say that we have met in another time.  I do remember it clear as day.  That time is most vivid in my mind."

She paused, inhaling thoughtfully.  She closed her eyes as she made her reply, "I remember you most clearly…  Forgive me if I'm wrong…  Suboshi…" she gazed up at him, her eyes meeting his.

Séamus stared at her in shock.  This girl…  "Priestess of Seiryuu…" he breathed out.  She did have the same appearance as the girl that he had fallen into a deep love with in his last life.  The pieces suddenly seemed to be falling into place.

He swallowed, continuing to stare at her, waiting for her response, that is, if she had hear him utter the title he had known her as.

'Like Taka, Suboshi also has his memories back!' Yui thought happily, tears stinging her eyes in sheer glee at the thought that she might have her warrior back.

"Yui, what's wrong?" Séamus asked concernedly as he gazed at her, wondering if he had done or said something that had caused her to cry.  He wondered if it was his fault.  Whether it was or not, didn't matter to the guilt he felt.

"No, there's nothing wrong.  All is right…"

That was the last thing she said, as she gazed at him for a short moment before a shot rang out.  The sniper had fired a single bullet, which penetrated Yui's back, hitting a vital organ.  She lurched forward, a surprised look on her face as her mouth stayed open, no sound coming out.

~~~~

There was a gentle rap of the knuckles on the door to the hovel that was shared by the small Stern family.  The mother head of the family dosed through the nose, while her youngest born, her son, Achan was jolted out of his rest by it.

Trotting to the door, his bare feet flying over the cold cement floor, he stopped at the door, pulling it open slightly.  "Yes?"  He gazed out through the crack into the darkness of the night.

"Achan Stern?"

"Oh?  Officer Kepler?"

"Yes."

Parting the door, Achan let the officer into the small place.  He knew he could trust the man, despite the fact that the man was adorned in the garments of the dreaded SS rank and file.  If it had been another officer, the young man would have been reluctant to part the door, but it was Albretchet Kepler, the reincarnation of friend and ally, Genbu Seishi Hikitsu. 

Achan, the former Genbu Seishi Tomite, sensed the presence in the officer, hence his heightened sense of overall trust for someone who would otherwise under normal permitting circumstance be considered an enemy.  That was his one and foremost reason for letting the man in.  It had nothing to do with the fact that the man could come in regardless.

Taking a seat at the small table, Officer Kepler removed his hat, and turned a gaze on the young man.  As he turned his face to Achan, the hazy-yellow light of the moon filtering in through the yellowed frayed goosy curtains fell over his face, silhouetting him, giving him a gentle shadow.

"Achan, get Arielle, I will speak to you both of plans to remove you and your family from the ghetto, but I require full cooperation."

"I'll get her."

Turning, Achan ran from the room to the small and cramped sleeping quarters.  Entering, he knelt next to his older sister, who turned to face him and in a whisper asked, "Who's calling at this ungodly hour of the night?"

"It's your lover…" Achan joked, winking at his sister, only to earn a dirty look from her as she took her pillow and threw it at him.

Giving her brother a dirty look, Arielle pushed her bangs out of her face; her hair was held back by a couple of ribbons.  Sitting up, she sighed.  "What does Mr Kepler want?"

"Something about helping us leave the ghetto."

"He found a way?" she gasped out, staring incredulously at her brother.  At that, she stood up.  "You are serious?  You swear it's the honest to god's truth?"  
  
"It should be.  I don't know if he isn't lying and if this is a rouse because we're going to end up at one of those death camps."

Pulling on a simple housecoat, Arielle wandered out.  Peering out into the small area that made up the kitchen, she caught sight of the officer.

"Mr Kepler?"  She edged, as she walked over to him.

"Miss Stern." The SS officer stood up, taking her hand, kissing it.  "Or shall I say, Iname.  You're still beautiful even if in a state of rumpled imperfection."

She felt a slight blush creep over her cheeks at his praise.  "If you do say so, Mr Kepler, but I hardly am worth such praise."

"But I do.  And please, call me Albretchet…  Or if you must, Hikitsu." he whispered, brushing his hand over her face, moving loose bangs back from her pale face.

She nodded numbly.  "Yes…Albretchet."

Saying nothing, he brought his lips to hers, his hand cupping her chin gently.  He pulled away after a lingering moment, staring deeply into her eyes.  "Arielle, gather what you can fit into a small bag.  Help Achan pack.  I'll come for your mother in the morning."

"You want me to leave mother behind?  But how she will fret!" Arielle remarked, staring into the eyes of her former lover.

"I know.  Leave her a note.  But it's more discrete if I escort you two out then come for her.  It's best that way.  And your mother is already on a reserved list.  She's worker of Herr Schindler2, and he's sent a request for a batch of his workers to be spared.  She was listed.  You two weren't, so you two shall do as I say."

"Yes, sir." Achan nodded.

From his jacket, the officer produced a folder.  "In here is what you need for freedom.   It contains passports that show you to have pure German blood, and that there is no trace of Judeo blood in your ancestry.

"Further, I advise you both to remove the Star of David from your clothes promptly before you leave the ghetto so that I may escort you both and no have problems arise."

"I do have a kit for that.  I'll fetch it.  Achan, get whatever outfit you wish to wear and I'll remove the star." Arielle stood up walking over to the small box in the kitchen and pulled out a sewing kit.

~~~~

From her chair she fell.  On the ground she lay on her side, blood seeping from the gaping wound in her chest on her back.  Around her on the floor formed a puddle of sticky red blood.  It was putrid in smell, causing many patrons to take a handkerchief and cover their faces to try and allow for them to keep their meal down.

Lying on the floor, Yui gasped for breath.  She was short of it.  Her vision was going hazy, her eyes seeing stars and not much else.  Her mind swirling in the numbing intoxication of pain.  Is this was dying truly felt like?

"Yui!" Séamus jumped from his seat, moving to her side to pick her up and cradle her.  He didn't know what else to do.  He lifted her into his arms and held her for a minute.

Opening her eyes, she tried to focus on him.  "Suboshi…" she whispered, trying to raise a hand to his face, to feel his face against her hand.

Grasping what she was attempting to do, he took her hand in his, clutching it.  "Yes, Lady Yui?"

"I'm sorry for what I did to you.  I wish I had got to be with you more in the last life." She whispered a soft serene smile over her lips.  "I love you…"

"Yui…" he blinked in shock at her words.  He didn't know what else to say to her.  But now, it was too late to say anything, as she shut her eyes, her body going limp in his arms.

His mouth went dry.   She had just died in his arms, professing of her love for him.  That was the last thing she had told him.  Just as it was the last thing he had told her before he had died following saving her from the wrath of an evil being in the last life.

From up at a balcony in the tavern stood a lone figure wielding an army issued gun.  He watched the unfolding scene with a satisfied smirk over his lips.  The ensuing chaos was too delicious for words.  It was interesting to see these dumb people try and save a pathetic girl who was nothing more than enemy.

He fired a shot up, catching the attention of many.  He then declared loudly for all to hear: "do not waste your time, for she was an enemy of the state!  She is like the serpent in the Garden of Eden.  She earned trust in the guise of deceit!"

With that, the sniper vanished.

~~~~

_The common understanding which we have here reached guarantees that victory will be ours. 3_

Chelsea sighed as she listened to the current broadcast from the United Kingdom's Prime Minister's office, following a previous announcement of a conference between the United States of American, the USSR and the United Kingdom in the kingdom of Iran.

This broadcast was merely a report of the events that had traversed at the conference.

Reassuring words they were, but as to if they were a reality was another story.  They weren't to Chelsea.  The mere idea that the victory for the allies was any where near was as good as a dream.  It was only a fantasy.

How could anyone guarantee such a victory in the face of sweeping German attacks that were impossible for the mainland European nations to fend off?  Did the United Kingdom really deem itself that capable?  It was possible, but Chelsea wanted to see results before she believed.

Clasping her hands in front of her, she changed her position in her chair as she sat behind the secretarial desk outside of General Marshall's office. 

_With our Diplomatic advisors we have surveyed the problems of the future. We shall seek the cooperation and active participation of all nations, large and small, whose peoples in heart and mind are dedicated, as are our own peoples, to the elimination of tyranny and slavery, oppression and intolerance. We will welcome them, as they may choose to come, into a world family of Democratic Nations. _

_No power on earth can prevent our destroying the German armies by land, their U Boats by sea, and their war plants from the air. _

_Our attack will be relentless and increasing_. 

Taking off his hat, Marcus stopped in front of the desk and faced the young girl that sat their.  His eyes narrowed.  She did seem familiar to him somehow, but he didn't want to say.

Gazing up when she heard the man come in, Chelsea diverted her attention from the broadcast long enough to serve the man who stood before her.

"Good afternoon sir, what is your business with General Marshall?"

"I have come to talk to him about military strategy pertaining to the war.  It was discussed in a recent batch of telegrams that we have exchanged."

"So you'd be Marcus Faulkner?"

"Yes ma'am." The man nodded.

"Go right on in, he isn't busy."

Nodding once more, Marcus wandered past the desk.  As he did, he turned a gaze back to the young girl sitting there.   'Chiriko.'  He smiled to himself, noting that the child was once again on the same side as him and one other of his friends.

He watched her for a minute, wondering if the girl did have her memories back.  It seemed to him that she did, for her chi wasn't weak.  Forgoing his talk with his old friend for a brief moment, Marcus kept his hat under arm and walked back over to face the girl.

"You do look familiar to me."  That seemed to be the best way to begin.

"I could say the very same to you, Mr Faulkner." Chelsea replied, checking some papers on her desk.  They were death certificates to me mailed out to the families, as well as the notices.

Marcus arched an eyebrow.  The girl did seem to have wit, but a gentle one.  "What makes you say that, ma'am?"

"Simple, you do resemble an old friend of mine, just as General Marshall does, as well as my escort, and his friend.  This also goes for the two captains that are heading a small but highly classified military campaign to do a reconnaissance over on main land."

"Who do they look like?"

"Like people I knew from a previous life, as you do."

"Chiriko."

"Yes, that is who I was, which makes you Chichiri."

"And Dwight is Mitsukake."

"My escort, Brennan, is Tasuki.  His good friend is former Seiryuu Seishi Suboshi.  The two captains are former enemies; Lord Hotohori and Nakago."

Marcus seemed slightly surprised by that.  Two of their former enemies were now on their side?  Did this mean that it was possible that former allies would be enemies?

_To be con't in chapter 24_

~~~~

1 – carton of fags: this is just another way of saying carton of cigarettes; slang.

2 – Schindler: Oskar Schindler a German businessman born in 1908.  Schindler set up his factory in Brinnlitz, a small town on the Polish-Czechoslovakian border. He was allowed to draw up a list of "essential" Jewish workers — those from Emalia and others with special talents he deemed useful — whom he could take with him.   (Schindler's List)

3 – from the Tehran conference held by the United Kingdom, United States and the USSR; the peace agreement, December 1, 1943

**Author's Note**: Hey!  Look!  I'm very good, I got out two new chapters in less than a week!  Anyway, aside from that, I'm writing this note this time, to point out that, for anyone who is asking for a list of the character cast to know who is who, check the end of chapter 12, I put the list there because if I put it sooner, there would be too many spoilers.  Thank you to everyone who is still reading this!  Don't worry, I will finish this, no matter how long it takes!  Don't forget to review!  Tell me what you think!


	27. A Fortified Alliance

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 25**

~~~~

**Author's Notes**: I will apologise in advance for the racial dialogue in this chapter.  It's only to show the flavour of the time period.  I don't feel that way, so don't flame me for what is written.  I'm recreating history as it happened.  I'm not aiming to offend anyone; I'm just trying to write to be as historically correct as one person can be.  However, I am interested to know what people honestly think of this.  Don't be shy; I want honest feedback, but no flames please.

Also, I would like to extend thanks to two people who helped me with ideas for this chapter.  First to my dear friend Mary Ann who with her distrust of Kepler (Hikitsu) brought on an idea for this chapter and secondly to my dear Mika, who gave me a suggestion for the way that three of the characters are killed here.  Thanks guys!

~~~~

Sitting in front of the makeshift radio, Angelique sighed.  She fidgeted.  The other group they spoke with in Germany wasn't replying.  They hadn't in a few weeks.  They did have correspondence with others in the area, but none with the White Rose, their most important ally who held the most crucial information.

She wanted to hear a voice from the outside, something to reassure her that this dreadful war would soon end.  But it seemed that it wouldn't happen.

She sighed morosely and flipped off the channel on the makeshift radio, a thought coming to her mind as she did.  "_Mon dieu!"  She whispered out loud, realising something.  If the division of the German army that held post here could create fear to reduce resistance activity, what could they have done in Berlin?_

She gasped.  The Gestapo.  They could have cracked down on any resistance activity that was spawning in the heart of the Nazi empire.  But what could they do?  She had heard the stories?  Could they be any worse than the SS Death Squads that they had heard of?

"_Mon dieu…non!"_

"Pray all you want, but it is all futile."

"Aimée!" Angelique turned sharply.  She rose to her feet to come face to face with her friend and ally, who was also the head of the French resistance in the prefecture of Dunkirk.

"Angelique." The taller of the girls replied, her deep auburn hair falling in her face.  Strands of hair had come loose from her otherwise pristine braid.  "It is futile to pray now."

Aimée sighed, entering the room and took a seat across from her friend.  She stared into her friend's deep violet eyes. Reaching out taking Angelique's hands in hers, she softly added, "I'm sorry, but it seems one of our friends was unable to escape the German's final solution.

"Céleste was found to have Jewish blood in her family, so they took her.  They warned that any other women here found to have Jewish blood or be one that hasn't reported in will be promptly deported for the death penalty.  Everyone who is must wear the Star of David.

"They missed it the first time around, until they heard her praying in Hebrew.  She blew her cover, but now it means the rest of us must be prudent unless we want to end up at Bergen-Belsen – the place I heard them mention when they asked where to have her sent.

"I believe it also means that we have to be careful, for they issued a statement saying that any one found in contempt of the state will be considered an enemy and will be dealt with accordingly."

Angelique paled sufficiently as she listened to her friend speak.  Reflexively she swallowed, for she too had disobeyed the German created law that all Jews were to wear the Star of David on their clothing. 

~~~~

With the two young adults out in the back, burying their old clothing, Kepler stood up.  He gazed around, a cold smirk over his lips.  Walking to the door, he opened it and motioned for the three other SS Death-squad officers to enter.

The three walked in and saluted their superior.

"Take out the wench.  The children are to be left alone.  I'll take care of them.  The woman is too outspoken.  Damn it to hell if she is on Schindler's list, bastard's done nothing for me."

There was a serious of muffled laughter coming from the three officers.  They didn't quite care for Schindler's need to have these damned Jews working for him.  As far as they were concerned, that race was inferior and deserved the Final Solution.

Hefting the gun in hand, each of the three officers ran for the room.  The tallest of the three entered, while two stood at the door.  There was a muffled gunshot before the tallest of the three officers emerged and nodded at his colleagues.

Their feet moved quietly over the floor as they returned to where their superior was.  Unlike when they ran to the room when their boots made the sounds resembling that of a charging horde, their approach when they returned was far more docile.

Turning as he heard his men enter, Kepler smirked coldly.    Despite the darkness, his smirk was obvious through the haze of night.  "Sounded like a nice clean kill, a single shot, was it not?"

"It was.  Right to the bitch's ugly face." The tallest replied; a gleefully maniacal grin over his expression.  While he spoke, his finger caressed the trigger of his gun.  He switched it between hands and added.  "Now what do we do with her worthless carcass?"

"Leave it to rot."

"Leave what to rot?  What is going on?" Arielle asked, as she walked into the room hesitantly.  Catching sight of the other German officers, she lowered her eyes and kept her voice lower, moving with added caution.

"Nothing you'd care about you little Jewish bitch." The tallest offer spat, pushing her against the wall with such a glee for his actions.  He didn't care that Arielle was a girl; all Jews were the same.

Crying out, Arielle fell against the wall, her head hitting the window ledge following the impact.  Slumping against the wall, the numbing pain that lanced her body caused her to slip down to the floor.  The last thing she remembered before she passed out was the cold smirk over Kepler's lips.  Tears momentarily hit her eyes before her world blacked out.

"ARIELLE!!" Achan cried out, running into the room at that moment, but skidded to a halt, coming face to face with the four officers that were present.  He swallowed, concealing his nervousness beneath a deceitful exterior of rage and contempt.

"You son of a bitch!   That's my sister!   I don't care what you do to me!  But a decent man doesn't hit a girl!  You're a damned pathetic asshole!" Achan spat out angrily, taking a protective position in front of his sister.

"Oh?"  A mocking laugh came from the officer.  "I'm pathetic?  You're the little worthless bloodsucking Jewish bastard.  If anyone is, you are.  Now, shut-up and mind your place you worthless bastard."  With that, the officer drew out his pistol and pointed it at Achan's head.

Panic lanced through Achan's body.  He needed to protect his sister at all costs, but he'd be damned if he did so by dying at the hands of the men who were part of the SS death squad.  He swallowed, trying to think.  Perhaps he could instil fear in them if he killed their superior.  After all, Kepler had turned on them and betrayed them.

Turning to face the former Genbu Seishi Hikitsu, Achan's eyes darkened in hatred for the man.  He couldn't conceal it any longer.  With that, he raised his hands, a sizzling green chi forming around his hands, as a sneer caressed his lips.

With this, he formed a snaking layer of ice over Kepler's feet.  Unlike when he, as his former incarnate, used it against the Priestess of Suzaku, it didn't climb slowly.  Festered by his anger and contempt for the traitor, the ice moved up rapidly, encasing the German officer from head to foot.

Kepler hadn't a chance to move out of the way or summon upon his dark powers he kept concealed in order to fend off the unexpected and strong attack launched by Achan.  Instead, the German officer stood in frozen shock, his body slowly shutting down.

This brought a smirk of satisfaction to Achan's lips.  He turned to face the other officers.  "Now, it's your turn."  He raised his hand, preparing to encase them all together when he found himself tasting lead.

The shortest of the officers had raised his gun, shooting the young man at point blank range.  "We may not be demonic beings like you, but at least we know our place, you little worthless bloodsucking Jew."  He then kicked the young boy in the chest after the boy had dropped to the floor, holding a hand to the gaping bullet wound in his chest.

Achan whimpered in pain.  He winced, crying out as he felt the toe of the officer's boot dig into his chest where the bullet wound had been inflicted.  It sent a searing pain through his body.  He just wish he could die now.  The pain was too much.

From the wound, blood dripped slowly, but enough to drain his life from his hands.  He turned his head to catch a glimpse of his sister.  'I'm sorry...  I wish I could have done more to protect you.' He started to crawl for her, but gave up and collapsed in a puddle of his blood, barely breathing.

Gazing at the boy, who laid in a puddle of fresh and dried blood, the officers sneered.  The officer of medium height kicked the boy again, and then turned a gaze to the girl, a twinkling leer in his eye.  "She may be worthless, but worth as a whore.  I heard my pa tell my brother once, a Jewish girl is a good screw job."

"That would mess up the gene pool.  Bitch would be allowed to procreate.  Though she does look like a nice screw job.  Little Jewish bitch looks like 'em prostitutes that my dad had at work."

The tallest snorted derisively.  "Stop thinking about fraternising with this bitch."  With that, he made a decisive end to the discussion in a curt manner by hefting his pistol and shooting the girl in the head.

~~~~

Sitting in front of General Marshall's desk, Marcus sat back, his hands over his lap as he gazed around.  It was quiet, not much happening.  His gaze shifted to the window to watch the cloud move over the city.  They were in a building that sat on the edge of the city.  From their spot in the building, one could look out and see dim flashes somewhere across the channel.

'Another daytime raid by the Nazis.' Marcus thought resentfully, as he recalled the spy he fought.  He had bitter memories of that; that and of the Great War and the trench warfare that had spawned during it.

General Marshall re-entered, he was holding a small stack of papers.  He addressed his old friend as he wandered in, "it's nice to get to talk about strategy finally and not worry about spies getting information to expropriate into the hands of our enemies."

"It is, isn't it, Dwight?"  Marcus replied, standing up and walking to the window.  He leaned an arm against the pane and placed his forehead against the cool glass pane.  "There has to be something that can be done to stop the damned Nazis.  If it's as much a stalemate as it was before, how many lives are going to be lost before people realise that it's going to cost too much in terms of lives in order to get peace?"

"People are foolish in their dreams sometimes.  They expect more than the boys can give.  Our boys can only do so much in the face of this blitzkrieg that we're being faced with.  German tactics have changed so much since the Great War, my friend."

"What are they being faced with?  With the technology in this war, what are we able to do?  What can our enemies do?  Will we get the peace that we're fighting for, or will our boys suffer as greatly as we did.  We can only pray that they don't end up in the trenches like we did."

"Reports from the western front speak of no trenches thus far.  But, the Germans are more ruthless than before.   Penetration is impossible.  We only landed men because we found an opening.  The French are still fighting, but their resistance spirit is high, ability to is low.  They have no army, only civilians." 

"Will the Germans spare them or do to the civilians what they are doing to the Jews?"

General Marshall inhaled thoughtfully, as he placed the folder and papers on his desk.  He turned to face Marcus' back as he spoke.  He listened carefully, absorbing his friend's words before he formulated his response accordingly.

"Only time will tell.  Our spies are working to gather information.  For now, we can only drive our enemy from Africa and focus on our future plans for attacks.  We can continue our raids on bombing German cities and factories, as well as military strongholds.   But for how?  We are developing a debt that will eventually be too much to pay-off.

"Our allies are helping, but with the American tactics, we are faced with the prospect of a burdening debt because they are supplying us with the weapons we use, as well as our commonwealth dominion of Canada.

"Will they be forgiving in it?  Will they outright share and trade arsenal for the sake of the world's future without strings attached?  No one can say, but we can only hope that now that the United States is outright involved that their resources will help our drained ones defeat the Germans and drive the Soviets back into the USSR, so that the threat of Nazism and Communism won't cause any more strife the world."

"But, you know that right now the Soviets are less of a threat than the Nazis, even if we don't favour the Soviets and their ideals." Marcus turned his profile to his friend.

He turned it back to the window, his gaze at the ground, watching the soldiers working on a training exercise.  "I don't want any more of our men to die.  But I don't want the war to go on.  So, I guess it means a few more sacrifices.  It would take a miracle by God to make it happen."

"I know, but we may have a plan in store to penetrate German lines and land some of our men on mainland, thus giving us a foot in the door even if these men do nothing."

"Explain."

"In an operation headed by Captain Russell Stonewall and Captain JC Andreas, with IRA rank and file and able-bodied men who want a chance to taste war without out-right enlisting, we're sending this group over to slink past German lines and infiltrate."

"Sounds plausible.  Have they taken into account the possibility of causalities and other negative factors that come with such an operation?"

"With Andreas as one of the heads of the operation, that is the furthest thing from his mind.  He's working on his own agenda.  I'd leave those issues of negative factors in the hands of Stonewall."

Marcus nodded knowingly.  He turned to face his friend.  "So, you're trusting Andreas to head this operation?"

"I believe it was his suggestion in the first place.  I did question it, but took back my questions on the realisation that we could penetrate German lines and gather insider details that could help the allies with future operations.  The resistance groups in France are slowly falling off the map as the Germans realise what is happening around them.  We did need another source, and this does seem like the best for the time being."

"In other words, you had a momentary lapse of reason." Marcus bitterly pointed out, his eyes casting a knowing glance over at his friend keeping his gaze level with General Marshall's.

"No, I couldn't be bothered to listen to Andreas bullshit me." The general replied with a shrug and opened the folder pulling out a sheet of paper, handing it to Marcus.

Taking it, Marcus gave the sheet a succinct glace over.  "You've got to be kidding me?  He expects that the IRA will honestly cooperate with him on this?  It means working with the British, which is the last thing the IRA would ever dream of doing."

"His explanation was that since the IRA were allies of the Germans and the Germans bombed out an IRA stronghold, that is why the IRA is suddenly willing to go to war against the Germans.  It's not that they suddenly agree with the British, it's more that they now have it in for the Germans as well."

"He has an alibi for everything?"

"It does seem that way, does it?"

"It seemed to be the closest thing to the truth." Marcus handed the sheet of paper back to his friend and turned back to gaze out the window.  He sighed softly, as he watched the rank and file of young men train for what would be the most traumatic time of their lives, of which, most wouldn't survive to tell of.

There was a curt knock on the door before a tall blonde man entered.  "Sir!"  He gave a curt salute before he moved further into the room.

"Andreas." General Marshall nodded at the Captain.  "Has reason finally caught up with you?"

"Reason was always there."

"It was just fleeting."

A small smile crept over Marcus's lips at that.   His friend still held wit, as subtle as it was.  He didn't outright laugh, for that would be rude.  He did however turn a glance to the other man.

"It hardly was.  Sir, you haven't given this a chance to watch it unfold in its fullest.  It will work, I can assure.  I know it will." Captain Andreas retorted with a respectful tone.

"I never said it wouldn't, I merely said that you had a momentary lapse of reason." General Dwight handed the plans over to Marcus.  "Let Lieutenant Faulkner be the judge of it is or isn't."

Turning, Marcus held the document and now fully faced Captain Andreas head on.  He still wore a small smile, but instead of an amused one, this one was more along the lines of a knowing one.  "I will the judge of it, but I do make my presumptuous statement now and it is: you're a crackpot.  You led your men in to foolish wars, letting them die pointlessly and dishonourably, chances are, as history repeats itself, this plan will be Swiss cheese and you'll do the same thing again."

"I could, but will I?" Captain Andreas smirked coldly.  "No, I did check it over in regards to precedence.  There have been careful precautions taken so the mistakes made with Dunkirk with the French and English won't occur with us.  We're landing in Vichy, they are an ally of the Germans, but as of now, unoccupied.  If we move quickly and land there, we can get a stronghold before the Germans advance into that region and dissolve the puppet government in Vichy."

"But they do have men stationed there, as well as Vichy armed forces that will fend off any foreigners attempting to make a landing that would threaten the Axis."

"We'll just have to make life difficult for them, won't we?  Perhaps a few pointless deaths on their side will damper spirits."

Marcus arched an eyebrow at the captain.  "Oh?"

"It seems you're looking for an explanation.  I can say it simply, I have two young men who worked as assassins in the IRA and are willing to devote their energy to this." Captain Andreas moved to the door and left for a moment.

He returned a moment later followed by two young men.

"Lieutenant Faulkner, here are the two young men that will be serving our purposed for infiltration: Séamus Kennedy and Brennan Mackenzie."

Marcus gazed at both young men, a look of surprise in his eye.   If he was reading their chi right, the pair were Suboshi and Tasuki, the two most stubborn and violent people he had ever known.  It did however seem fitting that the two were reincarnated in Ireland and served in the IRA.  They had the temperament and the spirit for it.

His eyes moved over the second young man, the redhead.  "Tasuki."  He whispered.  This meant that as of this moment, he had only two more of the Suzaku warriors to find.  He knew that Hotohori was one of the heads of the operation.  That left Tamahome and Nuriko that were unfound as of this moment.

Looking up, Brennan caught sight of another old friend.  A smile lit up over his face.  "Chichiri!  You're here as well?  They draft you for dirty work in killing them bloody murderin' and bombin' Germans?"  
  
"No, I decided to come back from retirement.  I don't want to see any more young men die because of the Germans.  It was bad enough with the Great War." Marcus took Brennan's hand, the pair of old friends shaking hands.

"But try telling that to the Germans."

The five men gathered turned to the source of the voice.  In the doorway stood the other head of the operation, Captain Stonewall.  His arms were folded over his chest as he leaned against the frame of the door.

"They haven't a care about life.  Their leader keeps sending his men to the two fronts, an eastern and a western front.  There is a heavy resistance on the eastern front, according to Soviet sources.  There are mass deaths on both sides, but both persist in sending troops.  Thousands of young men are sent to their deaths.  Thus, we must proceed with caution if we are to launch our own offence.  If we don't, we will make the same mistake as was done with Dieppe and with Dunkirk – underestimate the ability of the Germans and back ourselves into a corner."

Clearing his throat, Séamus spoke up for the first time, "it is possible, but anything is.  God could let the angel of mercy play in our favour.  If indeed the Germans are spread over two fronts, what's to say that they will pay attention to a small landing of civilians, especially the IRA?  The IRA hasn't officially declared war on the Germans, so we're not enemies of the Germans."

"We fly our flag and land as the IRA, we won't be attacked.  We did let the Nazis house at our bases in the United Kingdom." Brennan added, also joining the discussion for the first time.

"We'll go in alone." Séamus declared.  "We could take out a few Vichy officials and create a state of chaos in the region, allowing for the men in this faction to land with less worry of a German counter offensive."

"Are you sure that is wise?" Marcus questioned his gaze resting on the two young men.

"Is it any wiser than letting Andreas head the operation?" General Marshall asked in response.

"Who is to say what is wise and what isn't in these times." Marcus turned back to gaze out the window, watching the rank and file of young men training to go to war, only to die needlessly.

_To be con't in chapter 26_…


	28. Barriers of Deception and Language

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 26**

She wanted to escape.  She didn't know how much longer she could keep her cover in this situation.  To survive, the women who were once united had turned and started turning in those who were wanted by the German government.  No one of them would risk their lives.  All was at stake now.  Even strong solidified friendships were being abandoned in a futile attempt to survive and get in good with the enemy.  No one wanted to be suspected.

That was something Angelique found out through silent observation.  Even though the French were strongly opposed to the German occupation of France, they were suddenly turning rat and abandoning ship.  She couldn't help but to wonder if the Vichy government had any form of influence.  Either way, she knew that she had to leave if she was to have a hope in getting out of this alive, if such a possibility still existed.

Life outside the confinements of this wall was but a dream now.  It had been so long.  Only a few women, such as Aimée, were allowed out.  She was the only one given free reign and the most privileges.  Angelique suspected it was because her then-friend now potential-enemy (she couldn't be sure) was getting rather friendly with the Germans, particularly the officer heading the occupation of the region.

At the moment, she was near a window.  She sighed.  She didn't have to wonder why her friend had turned on her.  Survival was the name of the game now.  It was personal.  To think of someone else was a proposition that would now never be considered.

She closed her eyes.  She still had memories of Johann holding in his arms a scantly clad form of Aimée who whispered words of love (it seemed to be from the man's expression) in German.  Some of it was in French.  Nevertheless the image was still there.  It was straightforward, the closest thing to being slapped across the face.

'Oh _mon ami…_pour quoi_?'  Angelique sighed morosely, her sighed lustfully fixated on the clear sky above.  The world outside was now a dream.  The furthest she was allowed out, like many others were into the court yard surrounding the compound.  They were to remain stationed there and not leave because they had been declared an essential service._

She knew she was going to be faced with a horrible prospect soon.  With the chances of survival dwindling because each of them was only looking out got themselves and not any of the others, a united front to oppose their suppressors was now just a dream.  The once reality was now dust, blowing away in the northward winds, taking away the almost tangible freedom that hung in their sights.

Not only had most turned on themselves, but their once strong resistance crumbled to pieces.  It seemed to be strong, like it had a chance to make a difference.  Then the shattering news about the fall of the White Rose came.  Almost in sync with that, the resistance they had formed, headed by Aimée shattered.  Angelique had wanted to think that her friend's strange interest in the officer whose brigade was holding up this post had nothing to do with the fall of their resistance and the sudden incrimination of a few of the Jewish members of the resistance.

Clutching the Star of David that hung on the end of her thin necklace, Angelique sighed again.  It didn't seem right.  Why did the bullies of the world seem to always win?  Why weren't the allies of France doing anything?  Why did they continue to stall?

She then gazed around.  She knew the room was empty.  That shouldn't surprise her.  Everything had this barren feeling to it.  Life nearly ceased to exist.  The life now was nothing but a void and a dreary existence that many had given into.

Closing her eyes, she gasped, clutching her chest in pain.  With wild pained eyes, she looked around again.  'Ashitare got me once.  He tried to stop me and my friends from getting our goal.  This time it's the reincarnation of Tomo…

'I will **not stand for it!' she declared to herself.  'One Seiryuu Seishi was my down fall.  I will not let another be that.  Of course, I was a fool and trusted Aimée.  Seems she didn't change.  She's the same as always.  A leopard never changes its spots. **

'It does seem fitting that those two should have a sudden alliance.  Soi and Tomo were after all on the same cursed team.  I wouldn't be surprised if any of the other Seiryuu Seishi were also Nazis.  In fact, I would be shocked if any of them were part of the allies.

'If she did turn me in, it wouldn't surprise me in the least.  It would certainly hurt, but I would fail to be surprised.  With the way the war is going, if any of us (Jews) get out of this alive will be a miracle of Yahweh.'

Standing up, she placed her hands in her pocket.  'How nice it would be to have the freedom that is normal to many of the other French.  They may be under the control of that horrible man, but they can move around as they wish.'

Growling as she punched the wall, leaving a _VERY_ noticeable hole, she decided there and then that she wasn't going to stay around.  She was strong enough to take on any German.  She knew they would be weaker than her.  That was actually quite amusing to her since the Germans under Hitler were supposedly the superior race of people and therefore, better at everything else.

She smirked.  'Imagine their surprise when I get away.'

Moving quickly, she spotted an on duty officer.  She grinned gleefully.  She would beat him up, take his uniform and gun.  That would provide her a bit of a disguise.  It also helped that this man was the smallest of the group.  True he was tough, but she had her inhuman strength.

In addition to her strength, she also had martial arts experience.  Her father was a master at Savate1.  He taught many women who to fight in the event that the men were unable to defend the town during the Great War, they would be able to.  They would be issued weapons, which would be used along with their adequate fighting skills.

After the Great War, he had continued to teach it to both men and women, wishing to be able to defend themselves.  He had learned it from travelling with his father as a lad to foreign places.  He had been taught it by deckhands, who explained that the techniques had originated in the Orient, but the art itself was purely of French origins.

From her father, Angelique had learned this.  She, nevertheless, had yet to use it in a real life situation.  Now seemed to be a good moment.  She moved quickly and ambushed the man.

There was a struggle, as she first wrestled the gun from him by twisting his wrist.  Once acquiring it, she placed it in her belt.  Part one was done.  Now she needed the uniform.  This would require her to beat him up, rendering him unconscious.

While she did get the gun from the man, she found her self landing promptly on her bottom.  Above her lurked the officer and the ceiling.  Things weren't going according to plan.  Oh well, she would just have to revert to street tactics and use the more aggressive moves.

Being on the ground required her to use a _Coupe __Main_ a Sol_2.  Her hands were firmly planted behind her, providing her with balance, as she shot her leg up, keeping it straight, her foot flat, and the toes of her right foot being used as the striking tool.  She combined her position of striking upward; she aimed her kick for the groin area of the officer._

The lethal nature of the kick brought forth a yelp of surprise, as seconds later, the officer fell, clutching his crotch, writhing in pain.  She smirked and gracefully rolled back and sprang to her feet.  She was an advantage now.

Using her strength, she picked up the officer and balled her hand into a fist.  Reeling back, she let it propel forward at a great speed.  At this speed, her fist connected with the man's stomach.  Knocking the air out of him, she thus rendered him unconscious, fulfilling most of her sought goal.

Placing him down, she worked quickly to strip him of all external garments.  Once she had him in just the bare minimum, she picked him up again and threw him into a nearby room.  Holding the uniform in hand, she ran down the hall and slipped into another room, locking the door securely.

Wasting no time, Angelique stripped off her traditional French schoolgirl outfit and packed it into a bag she found in a corner.  The bag she found was a German military issued shoulder sling bag.  That was fine by her.  One more item to make her believable.   She packed her skirt, slip, tights, blouse and cardigan neatly in the bag along with her shoes.  Tying it up, she placed it next to the uniform, which had the matching knee-high boots sitting next to it.

Before dressing again, she took out the knife that she had taken in addition to the gun and sliced off her long braid.  She knew it was uncustomary for a German officer to have long hair and it was frowned upon.  She brought the knife up, slicing quickly.  This motion brought back a great barrage of memories.  Ironically, she was doing this for the same reasons, embracing manhood, even though she was cutting her hair for the purpose of disguising herself.

Letting the hair fall to the floor in a tangle mess, she replaced the knife and started to attire herself in the uniform.  She cringed in distaste, after all, she was adorning herself in the garment of those who were rounding up her people like so much cattle and herding them into these concentration camps in the middle of nowhere.

Doing up the last of the buttons and fastening the belt, she sat down and began to lace up the boots.  Now she would walk in them was beyond her.  She would have to test it first.  Lacing up, she tightened the boots, so they were on securely.  Standing up, she blinked.  She certainly felt like she had stable footing on the ground.  Walking would be the real test.

Standing up, she took a few steps.  Actually, this wasn't too bad.  The lacing was tight, but that would loosen up with some walking.  The balance was quite simple; after all, she was on flat heels instead of the elevated ones she wore prior.

With that, she picked up the final accessory, the hat.  Placing it on, she nodded.  It hid her feminine features nicely, she noted, as she gazed into a dusty mirror that hadn't seen the underside of a dust rag in quite some time.  Tipping it, she nodded at her appearance and picked up the shoulder sling bag and headed for the exit.

With basic German phrases in mind, she felt prepared enough to slip by and get out under false pretences.  No one would notice.  After all, she had made her move when no one else was in sight and took everything off and hid the body in a place that was no longer in use, well, at least for the most part.

Wandering down the corridor to the exit, Angelique came upon three other German officers.  She tensed, not knowing what they would do.  She immediate relaxed as they did something she never thought possible, they smiled!  That was surprising.  They normally seemed to be so stoned face and stoic, yet now here they were expressing such emotion.

She nodded.  "_Ich gehe jetzt_."3

"_Ja?  An wo_?"4 one of the officers replied friendly.

"_An Stadt; an post ein brief eigenheim_."5 Angelique replied.

"_Viel Glueck, Herr_."6

Nodding, Angelique promptly left after saluting the three officers.  Once outside, ecstasy consumed her.  She couldn't believe it, she was free!  It was too amazing for words!  To be outside was the most she could have ever wished for.

Moving quickly, she went straight for the town.  There she would surely find a ship that would take her across to the British Isles where she could seek refuge.  She knew the docks would be swarming with ships, mainly merchant ships, so she would have no problem getting aboard one and getting across the English Channel and landing in a place that was still allied territory instead of German occupied.

There was one thing she forgot, that being in this uniform meant she got a warm reception from all officers in the area, but dirty looks from the French citizens of the area.  She did realise with shortly and that the only way for her to get anyway would be to be a stow away on board.  She also knew that chances were she wouldn't get a large enough space and would be unable to change.

She didn't want to risk being spotted in case any of the officers who served at the post from whence she fled recognised her.  This put her in a rather nasty bind, hence, leaving her no choice but to sneak on board a merchant ship and try and get away unnoticed once landing.

It would be a great number of hours later before she saw light again.  However, that didn't bother her in the least, simply because this was a minor sacrifice all in the name of freedom.  She would tolerate being in such a confined area, knowing that soon enough she would be in a country that was in the hands of the allies who would surely free Europe from the clutch of the Nazi leader.

There was nothing vile in the compartment she was stowed away in.  It was only fabric and other goods that could be sold at the English and Irish markets.  In fact, she was able to make a comfortable bed out of what she found in the compartment in order to make her journey more restful.

In fact, maybe it was too comfortable, because she dosed off, only to wake up again at the sound of voices speaking.  She blinked away, registering the voices that drifted in.  At first she didn't recognise the language.  She focused more, her eyes widening in joy as she realised the people were speaking English.  Already had she landed in the British Isles!  Freedom was now within her grasp.  All she had to do was sneak off and find a place to change…

Once departing forth from the merchant ship, she believed she was unseen until two men, officers, approached her.  One man was adorned in the uniform of the British armed forces and the other in the uniformed that indicated he served in the armed forces of the United States of America.

The first one, the American, was a blond man.  He smirked.  "Look at this isn't this our lucky day.  We've caught a bloody Nazi."

"It is quite a joyous day." Remarked the British officer, who looked no doubt pleased over his companion's swift work.  "The general should be quite happy."

"_Nien_!"  Angelique cried. She didn't realise that she had used German until her hands flew up to cover her mouth.  She had no idea what they said, but could guess it had something to do with her.  She cleared her throat.  "_Non! Je ne suis pas un officier allemand! Je suis une fille Juif-Française de Dunkerque! J'ai laissé chercher santuary! ...  Je suis Angelique St. Pierre."7_

The blonde, better known as Captain Andreas snorted derisively, a cold smirk over his lips.  "Isn't this cute, the German bastard speaks French.  He's trying to weasel out of getting caught.  Seize him."

Nodding, the other, the British officer, Captain Stonewall grabbed the person who was presumed to be a German officer by the upper arm.  As he did so, a shot of lightening – electricity – lanced his form.  He shook his head.  'No it's not.  None of the Suzaku Seishi would have been reincarnated as a German, so it can't be Nuriko…'

"Where do you want me to take this bastard?" Captain Stonewall replied.

"Take him to General Marshall.  He'll probably have a good use for him.  Or, better yet, we'll keep the stow-a-way.  Possibly we might get answers from him, that is, if he doesn't play ignorant and avoid any of our questions." Captain Andreas replied, as he and Captain Stonewall escorted Angelique away…

~~~~

Wandering into Johann's quarters, Aimée approached him.  Sitting on the bed, she gazed over at him as he looked out the window.  "_Herr_?  I bring bad news." She began her voice quiet.

"Speak."  Johann requested, as he turned and moved to sit next to the girl, or rather woman.

"One of your officers was ambushed by a girl." Aimée explained, holding out the remains of the braid that Angelique had sliced off.  "She knocked him unconscious and stripped him of his uniform and fled."

"Which one and to which officer?" Johann replied, as he stood up.  He started pacing across the room, back and forth.

"Angelique St. Pierre ambushed Lieutenant Streisand."  Aimée explained.  She added.  "It seems that the ambush happened a few hours back.  I only learned of it because I hurt the lieutenant moaning in pain and went to see what happened."  
  
  


"And of the girl?"

"She escaped on a merchant ship.  I saw what at first I believed was a German officer fleeing on an allied merchant ship."

"Verdammt!"

~~~~

**Author's Notes: wow!  It's been so long since I've made another addition to this ongoing piece.  But at least I haven't forgotten about it.  I've just been busy with school.  I'm studying networking as my college major.  It takes a lot of work, so I don't have much time to write.  I will once the end of the semester comes.  I hope that I have the support of my readers still, even if I'm slow with putting out new chapters.  I apologise for my tardiness.  I hope you've enjoyed what you've read so far.  Email me at nikkesen @ hotmail.com if you want to make a suggestion for the plot.   Thanks =)     ~ Ai-chan**

Notes

1. **Savate **is a French style of foot and fist fighting. Systematized in post-Napoleonic France, Savate is the only martial arts native to Europe that still exists in both sport and combative forms.  - http://mawn.net/his_savate.htm  
  
2. **Coupe Main a Sol** - The term for any of the kicks done while one or both of the hands are on the ground. These kicks are techniques past down from Chausson and look very similar to the kicks of capoeira - a Savate street fighting technique - http://www.mmm.it/killerfra/street.htm  
  
3.  "I'm off…" in the context of leaving for an errand.  
  
4. "Yes?  To where?"  
  
5. "To town; to send a letter home."  
  
6. "Godspeed, sir."  
  
7.  This part is not translated because Andreas and Stonewall do not speak French and therefore do not understand what she is saying.  It is meant be left untranslated for flavour reasons, as well as to reflect language barriers.


	29. Reunion

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 27**

"We must have someone here that speak French…or German…well one of the two languages that little bastard speaks.  Slippery one it seems, I might add." Marcus remarked, as he had just been informed of the find of the two captains.  Currently he sat with them, listening to them outline the latest development.

"He is." Captain Andreas replied.  He sat back.  "I would speak to him, but I don't speak the same dialect of French.  I understand Cajun and Creole, not the traditional tongue."

"Why didn't you say anything sooner, Andreas?!" Captain Stonewall demanded.  "We could have finished interrogating him and got this over with."

"I had a little difficulty understanding him."

"Bloody likely." Marcus smirked.  "It's just an excuse you're making so you can prolong the torture.  You haven't changed any, still the same sadistic bastard you always were."

"Hmn, grim assessment." Captain Andreas replied.

"Maybe because it's the truth?"

"Touché."

"Oh, did I strike a note?!"

"Kill the sarcasm, monk."

"You could be nicer.  Besides, I'm not a monk, I was a priest.  I performed Sunday Morning Mass, as well as daily mass." Marcus retorted, very much enjoying the banter.

"Please stop this.  We can't afford to waste any time.  It's precious and each moment could be spent preparing to have that German dictator's head severed and served on a silver platter to Churchill." Captain Stonewall proclaimed.

"All the allies want that."

"Sir!"  The two captains saluted the general.

Wandering in, General Marshall took a seat at the military conference table.  "I couldn't help but to over hear talk of a German officer being in our custody.  Could one of you enlighten me?"

"The man was a stow-a-way on a merchant ship.  He tried to escape when the merchant ship landed.  He didn't make it and we caught him.  He tried to set us off-guard by speaking French."  Captain Andreas smirked.  "Imagine, the little bastard was trying to say he was a woman."

"Did you two talk to him yet?" General Marshall pressed.

"No, sir." Captain Stonewall replied.

"Perhaps it might be best to get that out of the way before you proceed with any other of your plans.  I want to find out as much as we can.  Anything is helpful.  Don't waste any more time." General Marshall harshly informed the two captains, as he departed to his office.

Standing up, Marcus stated, "I could talk to him."

"But you only speak English and Latin." Captain Stonewall pointed out.

"True."  Marcus nodded, as he left the room.  He felt a chi, a noticeable one.  He wanted to stake it out.  It seemed to have arrived today.  That was half his reason for deciding to go forth with the interrogation; he wanted to freely roam around.

Shortly, he hit ground zero – he located the owner of the chi.  Entering the interrogation room, he gazed around, catching sight of a hunched over figure, with two soldiers on either side.  His eyes travelled to the floor.  There was a bag next to the man.  He arched an eyebrow, wondering why no one confiscated it.  He shrugged it off and whistled.  "You two may step down, I'll take care of questioning."

"Sir!" the two saluted their superior before leaving the room.  The first stop briefly to punch who was thought to be a German officer in the stomach.

Once they left, Marcus wondered over, picking up the bag.  "Open it." He commanded in heavily accented French.

Nodding, Angelique did as told.  She was too scared to say anything.  Dumping out the contents, she looked up at the officer, who looked genuinely surprised.

Marcus blinked.  'Female garments?  A skirt…blouse…' he picked them up, examining them before he looked over at the officer, his eyes widening.  'Nuriko!  It's his…err…her chi I felt.'  He stood back up.  "State your name and from where you hail."

"Angelique St. Pierre.  _Je suis de Dunkerque, France."_

"Mademoiselle St. Pierre, what was your motive?  Tell me why you're wearing the uniform of our enemy.  Surely you have a reason why." Marcus replied in the same language, taking in hand a blouse, his eyes resting on Angelique's.

"To get away from those awful men.  I didn't want to wind up in a concentration camp…  Or…  Or a death camp." Angelique whispered, keeping her head down.

Marcus had heard of the concentration camps, but the death camps were news to him.  Leaning forward, he asked, "what do you mean?"

"The Germans are getting rid of the Jews.  I heard it from the woman who headed Dunkirk's resistance until it crumbled.  She got the information from a high-ranking German officer, who she had been able to get in good with."

"Thank you.  Mme. St. Pierre, why don't you change and I'll return in a couple of minutes?" Marcus suggested, as he left the room.  He stopped and stood outside the door.

'It seems odd.  If Stonewall and Andreas found her, how could they have missed the fact that she had such a distinct chi, and that she does look like Nuriko?  Have the tensions of war fogged their vision and hope that the Seishi will almost all be on the same side?'  he wondered, knowing that so far only Miboshi was on the side of the Germans – and of course, very living impaired.

Pacing, his thoughts strayed.  He knew that they now had only Suzaku Seishi left to find.  Tamahome.  He was the only one who wasn't amongst them.  Marcus furrowed his brow in deep thought.  He could feel the chi of all the other Suzaku Seishi that had been reincarnated.  He couldn't sense that of Tamahome.  A while back be thought he felt something…  Something that felt like someone who was important was killed.

He paused in his pacing.  'Is it possible that we'll only be the Suzaku six, and that Tamahome was killed?  I did feel what I believe to be his presence.'

Sighing, he knocked on the door, receiving a reply of "_oui?".  Once getting a pass-through permission, he pressed forward, re-entering the room.  The difference was certainly remarkable.  She now really did look like a young woman.  Quite a beautiful one.  Suzaku had been kind to the strong seishi._

He nodded.  "Are you more comfortable, Mme. St. Pierre?"

"_Oui, monsieur…" she replied, prompting for him to give his name._

"Ah, I'm quite sorry.  I'm Lt. Marcus Faulkner." Marcus took her hand in his and kissed the top, his eyes resting on hers.  He then released it and took a seat across from her.

When he had kissed her hand. Angelique felt herself blush a deep crimson.  It was nice to be treated like a lady again instead of cattle being pushed through the system.  She swallowed, her violet eyes now fixated on Marcus.  'Chichiri.'

"Mme. St. Pierre, what can you tell me about where they are holding post in Dunkirk?"

"They have a strong hold on it and have already suppressed to uprising and three resistance factions that have formed.  Lt. Johann Van Eyke has a strong presence and his men following him blindly."

"Thank you.  You are free to go, Mme. St. Pierre." Marcus informed her.  He stood up and added, "Would you mind accompanying me?  I have a friend and colleague you should meet."  He paused and stared pointedly at her, as if to inform her he knew.  "Nuriko." 

"Chichiri…" Angelique replied softly relived and amazed that another one remembered.  He was the first of the Suzaku Seishi she had encountered.  She thought she felt a strong chi from the two men that caught her, but she had been unable to place it, as she had failed to catch sight of their faces.

"How many of the others are around?"

"Besides you, there is Tasuki, Chiriko, Hotohori, Mitsukake and, me." Marcus replied.  He then added, "I'm sure Hotohori will be happy to know you're amongst us again."

"He's here?!"  she gasped out, ecstasy overwhelming her.

"In addition to the six of us, we also have three of the Seiryuu Seishi amongst us.  However, they aren't to be distrusted, they are our allies."

"No, they are amongst the Germans!" Angelique retorted.

"I knew Miboshi was.  And of the others?"

"Tomo is an officer.  I believe Ashitare, based on what I heard, is a member of the Gestapo.  Soi…  Well, she's a turncoat.  She was a friend of mine and head of the resistance ofr Dunkirk, until she became too close to Tomo.  She then turned in others."

Marcus nodded.  He then gestured for her to follow.  "You are going to be in for a bit of a surprise.  Hotohori, or rather Captain Russell Stonewall, is working on a small-scale invasion plan with none other that Nakago.  The man may have been a bastard, but he knows strategy."

Angelique shuddered at the mention of Nakago.

Marcus smiled gently.  "He's nothing to fear when he's on your side."

"How do we know?"

"He hates the Germans and the Japanese.  He's an American captain out for blood, like many others in response to the Empire of Japan's strike on Pearl Harbour."

"That accounts for five.  What about the other two?  And…you made no mention of our seventh Seishi…"

"I think Tamahome may have not been reincarnated, or, he might've been killed.  And the other two Seiryuu Seishi…you'll have to see for yourself."

~~~~

She stood, leaning against the wall, her eyes fixated on him as he worked.  She cleared her throat, as she desired for him to lavish his attention on her at the present.  "Johann?"

He looked up.  He had been hunched over a map of the region.  He had a hunch that the allied forces would try and infiltrate any weakness in his defence.  His strategy was to rotate the location of his men, so that the weak points were reinforced with men who could be moved from their other posts but not sacrifice the security of the strongholds that they kept.

She sauntered over and slipped her around him.  "I could infiltrate a division of the allied forces and lead them here for a slaughtering.  When others see the strength of German forces, they shall back down and stop the bombing, in concession that we are indeed far stronger than they ever shall be."

"You're going to risk that?"

"I can feel a gathering presence.  It's the Seishi.  Many of them are gathering together.  It seems they might be part of an allied plot to invade."

Johann turned and took Aimée in arm. "You're too intelligent to risk wasting your skills over there.  I'd rather you take control of part of my brigade in the event of a pathetic attempt by the allies to try and break through our fortifications."

"I would be honoured." She whispered.  Stepping away, she smoothed down the uniform she wore.  It was a change from what she had been wearing before.  She was now adorned in the German government issued military uniform for women.

She had at first distrusted the Germans.  She had hated and distrusted the lieutenant.  It seemed that her stance was now in reverse and that she had betrayed what she stood for.  Actually, she had been slowly persuaded to join the other side.  Tales of great success lured her in.  Military achievements had always been a point of fascination for her.

Possibly another reason behind her choice could be that she had come to realise that there was no point in fighting a force that was much stronger than you, especially when that force was trying to be nice.  Well, as nice as one reincarnation of Tomo could be.  For joining his side, she received a lift on the ban that had been placed over many others.

Freedom fogged her mind.  It stopped and impeded upon common sense.  It boiled down to being nothing more than a fight; in essence, survival of the fittest by any means possible.  She didn't want to be left behind; she wanted to make it through to the end.

"Excellent, I trust your judgement.  You seemed to earn respect from Nakago for the work you did, so that wagers quite a sum of merit." Johann replied.  His golden eyes then glazed over with fiery hatred.  "And I want that girl captured.  No one escapes from us, no one."

"I'll see to her capture, I can assure you."

~~~~

Requesting for Angelique to wait in the hall, Marcus entered the room where left had left captains Stonewall and Andreas.  The two men were now accompanies by General Marshall, his secretary, Chelsea, her escort Brennan, and the twins, Séamus and Jeremiah.  He cleared his throat.  "I hope I'm not interrupting anything important here."

"You aren't, Marcus." His old and respected friend, General Dwight Marshall replied, as he motioned for the then-monk, now-lieutenant to join the group.  "It was brought to my attention that you were seeing to the interrogation, so I went to our small planning room for the conference.  It seems that Andreas has his head screwed on right, since there is a plan that will work."

"Before he introduces his plan, I have a shocking revelation for all of you." Marcus grimly informed the group.  "It seems that Russell and JC were grossly misinformed, since the lad, or, should I say, lass, they reeled in is the possible farthest thing from a German spy."

"Please, do tell us how Stonewall and I were, as you said, 'grossly misinformed', when indeed we were the ones that found this degenerate?  How can you regress from the fact that this person is a German spy?  He spoke first in German that back-tracked and fired off an excuse in French about being a Jewish girl from Dunkirk?" Captain Andreas demanded.

"Simple, because spoke with her."  Marcus calmly informed the blond captain.  He moved to the door and called, "_Mme. St. Pierre, vous pouvez entrer_."

Stepping away from the door, he allowed for Angelique to enter the room.  Shyly she pushed her way in, her eyes on the floor.  She didn't know if she would be welcomed or not.  She was also slightly fearful of what could happen next.  She knew she could trust Marcus, but of the others, she hadn't a faintest clue, even though she found some security in being able to sense the chi of all those in the room at the present.

"Stonewall, Andreas here's your German spy." Marcus made a large gesture in the direction of the young woman.  "I would like you to meet Mme. Angelique St. Pierre."

Captain Stonewall all but choked on the water he was drinking, as Captain Andreas looked a little pale in the pallor.  The two men looked at each other.  Indeed it seemed that this was a woman.  That certainly changed things.  They gazed back over.

"Mme. St. Pierre, you showed me what was around your neck, show them." Marcus softly urged Angelique, as she brought her eyes up from the ground.

Reaching into her blouse, Angelique pulled out the small pendant on the end of her slender gold chain.  Holding it up, the pendant caught the light as he hung, swinging back and forth as though caught on the subtlest of gentle breezes.

Standing up, Russell Stonewall walked over and took the hanging gold pendant in hand, studying it.  He arched an eyebrow.  She wore the Star of David around her neck, a strong and universally recognised symbol of the Judaic faith.  He knew of the German hatred of Jewish folk.

"She was telling the truth." he whispered softly as he let the pendant fall from his hand.

Gazing up, Angelique smiled softly.  An exhalation of breath crossed her lips, as she whispered one name, her eyes trained on the man in front of her.  "Hotohori."  
  
"Nuriko…" the captain was utterly astonished.  Suddenly he felt like such a fool.  He should have acted on his natural instincts when he found the girl.  He shouldn't have assumed that the girl was anything but what she said she was.

Bringing a hand to her face, he brushed strands of light violet hair from her fair-skinned face.  He knew she wouldn't understand the very words he was about to say, but she would know what he was trying to communicate to her.  "I'm very sorry about what I did to you earlier, madam.  We have unjustly wronged you.  I hope you can forgive us."

He held her hand as he spoke.  His voice was low so that only she could hear.  When he concluded with a request for forgiveness, he brought her hand to his lips, placing a gentle lingering kiss on the softness that was her skin.  He submissively in deep regret for his actions, kept his eyes down, as he held her hand for a long moment, before he eventually let it gently slide from his grasp.

Waiting for Stonewall to finish for what seemed to be an eternity, JC Andreas stood up, thinking that he too should apologise to the girl for wronging her.  It was more out of obligation, courtesy and a sense of duty more than anything else.  He didn't feel any attachment to the girl, so only felt his apologies should be offered as a way of making amends for an error that breached what he was signed up for – to defend and fight for those who couldn't fight and defend themselves.

Taking his turn, he faced the young woman.  Unlike his British counterpart, Captain Andreas wasn't going to address the young woman in English.  Instead, he elected to speak in Creole, it being the language closest to that of French.  He knew there was a chance that she wouldn't understand, but there would be a chance of less of a language barrier if he utilised his knowledge.

"_Je suis très désolé pour ce que nous avons fait à vous, Mme. St. Pierre." The blonde captain, former Seiryuu Seishi, Nakago stated in a soft voice, as he bowed his head, his blue eyes cast to the ground, to show his regret for his actions.  He removed his hand as he faced her.  Holding it in hand, he kept his head bowed, as he awaited her response._

"_Vous êtes pardonnés." Angelique replied, relieving the second captain of the guilt and the actions for which he was apologising for._

Looking up, Chelsea squealed in glee.  "Nuriko!"  Bouncing over, the very short secretary of the general stopped in front of her old friend and colleague.  "Welcome back!"

Angelique smiled.  So it would seem that she wasn't the only one reincarnated as a female.  "Chiriko." She nodded.

"Oi, don't bloody ferget 'bout me or shit like that." Brennan called, as he gave a wave to the former Suzaku Seishi Nuriko.  "Oi, gay-boy, remember me?!"  He winked, giving a toothy grin, revealing his ever-present fangs.

"Tasuki." She smiled.  'I don't understand what you're saying, but I'm guessing you're calling me gay and cursing like before.  God bless you, you haven't changed a bit!'

Knowing Marcus spoke French, she turned to him.  "This is everyone that we have accounted for…except for Tamahome…"  
  
"_Oui_."

"So it seems that the Suzaku Seishi aren't so fortunate after all.  They were all graced with the chance to be reunited." Captain Andreas remarked snidely.

"You want Soi, don't you?  It is not going to happen." Angelique turned to the blonde.  "She found someone else, who is very willing."  
  
"Explain yourself."

"Soi is reincarnated as Aimée Beauregard, the then-head of the resistance headed out in Dunkirk.  Now she is nothing more than a pawn of Lieutenant Johann Van Eyke; former Seiryuu Seishi Tomo."

He said nothing; his expression conveyed no emotion or betrayed any of his thoughts.  Instead, he glowed a menacing blue; a blue aura encompassed him.  'He couldn't get his way last time, so now he's taking what I should have been blessed with…Soi.'


	30. Lightening Strikes

**Plura Ater Nox  
Chapter 28**

She was growing restless; she needed something to do besides head part of the German Army. Aimée wanted to go in the same direction as Angelique. She wanted to rack down the stray woman and kill her. That would be quite fulfilling. 

Sighing, she begun to pace, she stopped. She smirked. She felt a chi flare, a strong chi. 'Nakago. You're close, I can feel it. You're also where I want to be in order to infiltrate. How kind of you to give away your location.' Standing up, Aimée smoothed down her skirt and pushed loose bangs from her face as she left the communications room she used to use when she made contact with the White Rose. She remembered when she spoke to "Plant Guardian" that at the time she felt differently and had a different cause. Now was a new time. She had a new cause. Knocking on the door of her secret lover, she wandered in. "Johann?" "Yes, you may enter." He replied dryly. He knew that she had given up on waiting for his permission to enter. He didn't even bother to chide her on that any more. He did love her, so he didn't mind that she felt no apprehension in coming to see. "You so sound happy." She whispered sarcastically, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Okay, what do you want?" "What makes you think I want anything?" "You're usually more aloof, not so forward. I have to entice you." "Hmn…" Aimée nodded. "Okay, so do tell…" the German lieutenant prompted. "What exactly to do want?" "Very well. You said you didn't want me going over on a spy mission to track down that girl and other related issues. But I picked up a distinct chi." She began. "I thought you knew I cared about you and that you had given up on him?!" Johann replied sharply, grabbing Aimée's hands tightly in his. His golden eyes were narrowed, filled with a hint of hurt mixed with conviction. "I thought you had given up on him? Don't you remember all the hurt he caused you? When he confessed his love to Seiryuu no Miko? That he hurt us both? Do you want the same kind of emotional trauma?" He pulled her closer, his voice a whisper. "Answer that for me." She swallowed deeply, listening to his words. She gazed away as tears filled her grey eyes, threatening to fall. She didn't want to look him in the eyes, as a tidal wave of memories crashed down onto her conscious mind. It hurt; it hurt now as much as it did then. The pain seemed to be fresh even though it was ancient. "You…you're right." Aimée whispered her voice cracking. She didn't feel she was able to look at the man now. She was wrought over old emotions and her past. She didn't know what to make of the present. "You're crying." Johann remarked, as he touched his hand, taking the moisture that fell from her eyes onto his finger. "It's because you're remembering what he did to you? How he hurt you after deceiving you? He deceived you with smooth promises, his swift actions. He betrayed you cruelly, using you for his own means." He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. "Sorry I had to remind you of this, but I don't want you to get any ideas that he might for some reason love you." Lifting her hand, she wiped her tears away. "I still want to seek it out, I felt more than his chi there, and I felt that of the Suzaku Seishi, as well as the girl that escaped us. I want to go over and deceive them and lure them into your trap." "I shouldn't have doubted your motives." He kissed her again. "I just wanted to protect you." "I know." "Go on, get ready. Call in before you land, that way my men will hold their fire until you are out of range. I don't want you to get injured, or hurt." Nodding, she lifted her hand, running her fingers through the silkiness that was Johann's hair. She sighed, as she stared into his golden eyes. "I won't disappoint you." "I can count on you. Even before when we were at odds, you were always reliable when it came to getting the task done. Even Nakago was not as reliable, his methods were too indirect." 

~~~~

Aimée was stilled attired in the uniform she had been given when she defected to the other side, swearing her loyalty to the enemy of the country of France and her allies. She planned to remove it before she landed in Ireland. For the moment she left it on in order to delegate authority over the merchants. She had enough knowledge to know who was bilingual and who wasn't. 

She planned to seek out one who spoke only French. That way she couldn't be turned into to British authorities when she docked in Dublin. Her accent also helped her. She grew up in Paris with her family, who were pure in blood. However, her father hadn't been born in France and had been raised in Canada, speaking English and passable French. Her father had been conscripted into the King's Army during the First World War, and had been sent over with others to fight in the trenches in France. He had been injured at Passchendaele. When he was taken to the Red Cross tent, he had been treated by a soft-spoken French girl, who he fell in love with. Instead of taking her back with him, her father had remained in France and moved to Paris with his fiancé. Hence, as a child, like her six siblings, she was exposed to both languages. So, it seems that she would have the chance to use such skills. Pushing her shoulders back, she confidently walked up to the merchant tending his vessel. She tapped him on the shoulder. "You are going to escort me to Dublin, no questions ask. If there is any sign of mutiny, you will be summarily punished." The merchant stared in horror at the woman and nodded numbly. He feared for his life. He had a family and didn't want to bring any trouble unto them. Hence, he complied very willingly and escorted her to the Dublin ports. He was too scared to watch her when she left, thus, he had no knowledge that she was really a French civilian and had changed back into her street clothes. Smiling to herself, Aimée made her way out of the docks and into the city of Dublin. 'I can still feel your chi, Nakago…and those of the others.' Now it would be only a matter of time before she lured him and his allies into a trap that they couldn't get out of – they would die at her hand. 

~~~~~

Pacing through the hallways of the planning room and central command outside of London, the blond captain ran his fingers through his hair. He couldn't shake Angelique's words of doom from his mind. Once he calmed down, he had only a moment of repose before she added that it was her belief that the pair indeed was involved deeply. 

'This is hardly fair. I swear, by my hand, when I find him, I will kill him!' Captain Andreas vowed solemnly as he decided to once again get out for fresh air. Now he would do so while off duty. When he and Stonewall had found the stray Jew, they had been on regulation duty. Leaving the outpost in Dublin, he decided to walk around. Maybe he could wet his whistle, which would restore him to normal thought, which is to say, devoid of emotion and anger. He knew the Irish were delightfully notorious for their liver-rotting whiskey; just what the doctor ordered. "Headin' to get mighty bloody legless on a pint of moonshine?!" "What the hell did you just say?" "I ask if you were headin' out to get yourself bloody legless, didn't you hear me, mate?!" "You're a moron, Suboshi." "Ah, don't be getting' all haughty with me 'cause you don't know what I mean." Séamus replied, as he took a rolled fag from his pocket and lit it. "You're too calm. For someone heading into war, you're very calm." Captain Andreas remarked after a moment of silence, during which he thoughtfully watched the young lad. "You don't fear dying?" "No, 'cause I already repented my sins and confessed to the Father. I will be good 'til the war is done. If I live, it's 'cause of the Lord's mercy. If I die, I ain't dyin' with sins on my slate." Séamus replied, as he inhaled deeply. "You're the antithesis to your brother." "Hey, leave Jeremiah be. You bloody damn well know he's a pacifist. Once a pacifist, always a pacifist." "Then, explain to me why he enlisted, especially since he enlisted at the start of the war." "He hated being a ward of the county." "And you?" "You know I was raised in the IRA and I'm only goin' over because the Nazi betrayed us and bloody tried to bomb us into the dark ages." Séamus retorted, but then stopped. "That wouldn't be so bad, and then them damned Protestants wouldn't exist yet." "You still have a simple view, don't you? Everything is black and white for you, isn't it, Suboshi?" "And you're still a feelingless sadomasochistic bastard, eh, Nakago?!!" "I can still blow you off the face of the earth if I fee like it." Captain Andreas replied, not liking the young man's sharp tongue. He knew in his heart, he had changed, and didn't like it when the reincarnated Seishi assumed him to be as he had been before. "You need to relax. Some moonshine it'll fix that stiff back of yours right now. C'mon, I'm payin'." Séamus replied, as he hopped down from the crates he was sitting on. As he jumped down, he patted the captain on the shoulder, indicating for the man to follow. Captain Andreas nodded his thanks, and followed the young man. His brow furrowed. "I'm sensing something about you. You know something but you're not sharing, and it's either about the existence of other Seishi, or…the Miko…" Séamus felt the bile rise in his throat at the mention of the Seiryuu no Miko. He was hit with a barrage of images. Most of them the grotesques images of her death, as she died in her arms, as he had before saving her. He still felt her body in his arms. "Se-seiryuu…no…M—miko…" he swallowed, as he verified hesitantly. He stammered, tripping over his speech. "Um…what are you…uh…talkin' about? Why…would I know any-anything a-a-bout her?!" "Because you're jumbling your speech." "Well…well…uh…" "You have five seconds, Suboshi." "She was killed by local thugs because they thought she was a spy! She died in my arms! There, happy???" Séamus spat out angrily. "She was killed?" "You got ignorance cloggin' the works? That's what I bloody said!" "Don't be impudent, lad." "Hn." "And don't grunt at me!" "Hn." "You don't take orders well. That fails to amaze me; you are a rebel, after all." Captain Andreas sighed in resignation as he plodded onward. There was no point in arguing with a rebel, they knew all about to out-stubborning mules. "Yes, I am." Séamus smirked, as he ran his fingers through his hair nonchalantly. "You're anything but modest. That doesn't surprise me." Captain Andreas remarked, as he watched the boy with an odd sort of content smile over his features. Shrugging, Séamus stepped ahead of the American captain and wandered into the pub and sat down at the counter, waiting for his companion to join him. While he waited, he turned to the bartender and waved. "I'd like my usual pint, mate." "Comin' right up." The bartender replied, as he finished cleaning out a glass and setting it on the counter. Reaching back, he took out the strongest brew he had on the shelf and poured out the ordered pint. "Say, where's yer shadow, laddy?" the bartender asked, making idle chatter, as he gave the pint over to Séamus who dropped two silver pence on the counter. "My twin's at home." "He ain't comin' out in the cross-fire, eh?! This here ain't nothin'. London's bathin' in this shit." "No, he just wants a night at home. And I know that London's bein' bombed into bloody hell. 'Em Protestants deserve it." "Fortunately the Germans are getting an adequate taste of their medicine." "Eh, lookie here, we got an American boy in our ranks." The bartender commented, turning to the American captain. "What'll be sir?" "What my friend's having." Sliding the pint across the counter, he nodded. "Tonight's first pint is on the house. Any friend of Séamus gits a free-start on gettin' bloody legless." "Thank you." Captain Andreas replied simply, as he accepted the pint. The Irish were certainly a unique bunch; a race on their own. At that moment, the door to the pub opened, as rain started to pound on the tin roof. Lightening flashed outside; the burst of white light could be seen through the doorway, as the dimmed figure sauntered in, their sights fixated on the blonde captain. "Rain, 'tis good thing, 'cause ain't the fire of 'em bloody Nazis." The bartender remarked, as he left his two patrons to serve others in the pub. The two were left alone to continue to talk. "It's dank, very reminiscent of the hostels that served as half-way homes for the vagabonds that wandered looking for work during the thirties." The blonde American captain commented, as he sipped on his pint, never noticing the eyes that were fixated on him. 'I've found you, Nakago.' The person thought. They wore a long trench coat, the collar turned up. The person knew the man's chi was lowered to mask itself, hence, a clue that his guard would be done. Discreetly, the individual brought a hand out of the pocket of the trench coat and fired a shot of lightening, striking the captain in the centre of the back. Jostled, Captain Andreas grunted in surprise, spilling some of the liquid from his pint. Setting it down, he jumped off the barstool and looked for the culprit. There was only one source for that, Soi. That meant, she was here right now. He felt the chi. His sapphire eyes roamed the room, landing immediately on the individual in the trench coat. He stiffened. He didn't know what to expect. He reached over and quickly downed the remains of his pint. He then smacked Séamus on the shoulder. "Get your ass in gear, we've got company." "Gimme a bloody minute to finish it, Yankee." "Move it or I'm chi-blasting your sorry ass into oblivion." "Fine, fine!" Séamus griped, as he chugged the last of his pint and jumped down, landing next to the American. "What is so bloody important?" Captain Andreas merely gestured at the dark figure in the trench coat. The young man studied the other for a minute, sensing a chi. 'Soi!' Approaching the figure in the trench coat, Captain Andreas stared the person down. "What exactly do you want?" "To talk to you outside." The person had a French accent on their speech. They only issued the simpl reply before pivoting and leaving the pub. "Come. Follow her!" Captain Andreas ordered. "I ain't bloody on the damned battlefield yet, wanker." Séamus groused, as he sighed, stepping into line and chasing after the other. His common sense dictated that he not do that. Once they were outside, the pair ran in the direction of the back ally, stopping once they found who they were looking for. Captain Andreas raised an arm, indicating for Séamus to not do anything right away. He approached the person in the trench coat. "Reveal yourself." Turning down the collar, Aimée stared Captain Andreas hard into the face. "Is this good enough for you, Yankee?!" "Soi." "Nakago, the one who should have been drowned at birth." "What?" he paled. TBC... 


	31. Game Set Match

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 29**

Captain Andreas paled, all colour draining from his face, as he stared in utter horror, his emotions unmasked, as he tried to digest the former Seiryuu Seishi Soi's words.  His throat felt like it was constricting; his mouth.  No words could cross his parched lips other than the strained and whispered word of "what?"

He didn't mask his dubious tone.  There was no point.  It was revealed by the emotions dancing over his visage, as he tried to comes to terms with what she had just said to him, her, the one that had confessed to loving him once upon a time.

Her tone and words even aroused scepticism in Séamus.  He didn't like the looks of this one bit.  She couldn't be trusted.  He could feel it; she had that look in her eye and that feel of her aura.  It was the inkling of a telltale sign that gave away her intrinsic motive.

"Mate, I trust the wench like I trust 'em Nazi bastards." Séamus remarked, privy only for Captain Andreas' ears.  "I think that Jew might've been with a full deck.  Seems this gal's nothin' but a pawn, or more, she might be a Nazi."

Captain Andreas shook his head.  "No, I don't feel it, Kennedy.  She's angry and it's a personal issue, it has nothing to do with what her loyalties may be now." He whispered, as he turned his eyes back to the one he felt great feelings for.

'Ah, so Nakago is naïve and Suboshi is the wise one.  This is a delightful change.  What's more, Nakago isn't listening to the boy and the boy is right.  This is quite good for me.  I can play with this.' Aimée thought to herself, as she listened to the words exchanged.

"She's been hurt."  Captain Andreas whispered and turned to the woman he had fallen in love with as Nakago.  He advanced on her and took her hands in his.  "Soi…"

"Let me go!" Aimée pulled her hands from his aggressively and stepped back.  "Don't touch me, Yankee.  I didn't come here to serve as your prostitute, I came here for one reason, revenge."

Her eyes flared with haughty indignation from having the contact.  She didn't want to even let the man think that he could get away with touching her.  She wanted to convey her anger in its entirety without any inhibitions.  Her body reflected this; the language clear as day as she clenched her fist at her side, her hateful glare fixated on the blonde man she knew to be Nakago, a man she had once loved with all her being, only to be rejected…  For some small girl from the other world.

"Soi!  Please, listen to me!" Captain Andreas pleaded.  "What happened in the other life, how I treated you, I truly regret it!  Soi, I loved you, I didn't know how to express it.  Please, I'm begging you, don't hate me, give me a second chance.  That's why we were reincarnated, right?  To have a second chance at everything, even love; to make up for our mistakes.  Soi, please…"

The captain got down on one knee before her, taking her hand in his.  He gazed into those cold, seemingly feelingless and emotionless greyish eyes.  He looked for the glint that used to be there, the spark that used to light up when she saw him.  He wanted to see that again.  He reached and took her hand in his, kissing the top.

"Please, forgive me for my wronging of you in the past.  I never wanted to hurt you." He added, his voice low, overflowing with sappy sincerity; his icy blue eyes downcast to the ground reflecting the truth of his words as they flowed out of his mouth.

She gazed down at him, her eyes filled with bitter contempt.  Then, slowly over her features crept a knowing smirk.  Perhaps there was a way to exploit this and put it to her use.  It wouldn't be much different that what he had done to Seiryuu no Miko in the previous life.  Nonetheless, she was unaware that she was being attentively observed by Séamus, whose eyes were narrow in distrust.

'She's going to do something.  Good god!  Andreas is blind to this!' he though in alert, as he swallowed.  His eyes moved over her.  She wore a trench coat and carried a bag.  He prayed she would put down the bag, thus opening up a chance for him to go through and find a clue.

The second she let it go, he pounced in it.  Opening it, he pulled the contents apart.  He paused as he pulled out the jacket.  'A Nazi…' he sighed, rolling his eyes.  'Gee, I'm right and Andreas is wrong, why does that not surprise me.'

Aimée seemed to sense an invasion of her privacy.  She cast a glance over the shoulder of Captain Andreas, her eyes landing on the former Seiryuu Seishi Suboshi, the boy who knew more than he ever let on.  He seemed to have a certain wisdom that went beyond his youth.  She had to act fast.  She had to distract the former Seiryuu Seishi Nakago so that he wouldn't listen to the boy.

"Nakago…" she whispered.  She had to soften her disposition, draw him with her lure.  A soft smile crossed her lips, as she tilted her head, her brad carelessly falling over one shoulder.  "I…"

Captain Andreas looked up to her, his icy blue eyes flooding with renewed hope.  "_Oui, mon petit belle fleur_?"  He clutched her hand to his chest.

"Perhaps I was too harsh." She replied softly.  'That is such tripe, I know very well that I could care less about him and I'm only doing this because I don't need my cover blown.  Now…how to get my bag back from Suboshi…'

Thinking quickly, she gave a low sultry moan.  "Would you kindly fetch my bag from Suboshi?  I would like it back and he's being bad and invading my privacy."

"Yes my dear, as you wish." The captain said, as he stood up and seized the bag from Séamus.  He promptly placed the items back in without so much as a second glance to see what the lad had been intently looking at.  He placed the bag over his shoulder.  "Please, allow me to carry it, madam."

Holding up his arm, he gazed with such love in his eyes, at her.  "Shall I escort you to the hostel and get you set up for the night?  Perhaps you'd like to go to a pub?  I oft venture there and escape the drudgery of war by playing on stage with a small jazz ensemble."

She nodded, her silence her weapon.

He took that as his cue to continue.  "You've heard of New Orleans?   I was part of a quaint jazz band.  Often we took our music down to the Mardi Gras."

Wordlessly she nodded.  Secretly she disliked this – well, listening to him talk – and didn't feel like being an active participant in the exchange.  There was only one good thing and that was that he had saved her bag from the former Seiryuu Seishi Suboshi and hadn't even begun to question its very contents.

"May I take you to the pub I'm playing at?  You'll love it, I promise you." Captain Andreas whispered, as he gazed down at her, his eyes filled with such loving admiration.

Watching them leave, Séamus narrowed his eyes in distrust.  He then sighed.  'And we're trusting Andreas to head this campaign?  God, if he's already fallen this hard, I hate to see who he would trust over there.  We are doomed!'

~~~~

He sat on the post at the dock, over looking the bay in the city, as he watched the sun disappear over the horizon.  He enjoyed these moments of solitude.  It gave him a chance to think, actually, more like relish in the loneliness that was solitude.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Gazing up, Jeremiah turned his gaze to Séamus.  "What are you doing out?  I thought you went with Brennan to the pub?"

"No, I was with Andreas." Séamus replied bitterly, as he came to stand next to his twin.

Arching an eyebrow in interest, Jeremiah queried, "What did he do to irritate you?  You usually say nothing ill of him."

"Well, now I am!" Séamus replied indignantly.  Angrily he spat, "That guy is bloody hopeless!  Can't we just put Stonewall in charge?  At least he won't fall for the little French Nazi bitches!"

Jeremiah's eyes widened in shock.  "What are you talking about?  You're not talking about Angelique are you?  Because, I know Andreas didn't like the sight of her.  The only one you could mean is…"

"There is another one.  Angelique was a POW; this other girl is a spy for the bloody crouts."

Jeremiah had to smile.  His brother had picked up on some American slang.  But, his smile vanished quickly as he inclined his head.  "Who is this other woman?"

"None other than the one Angelique named to be Aimée Beauregard, also better known as Seiryuu Seishi Soi."

Jeremiah groaned.  "We're doomed!"

"Gee, that sentiment sounds vaguely familiar…" Séamus mused sarcastically.  "I figured that as soon as Andreas knelt before Soi and prostrated himself at her feet and snivelled, begging for her forgiveness."

"I'm no sap, now the God's to honest truth!" Jeremiah exclaimed, not wanting to believe what words fell from his twin's mouth.  It was too ludicrous to be true.

"I am speaking the God's honest truth, I swear on my ancestors' grave!" Séamus replied; as he held up a hand and placed the other on his hear.  "And if I'm lying, may the Lord strike me dead."

"Ok, ok!  I believe you." Jeremiah sighed, caving.  He gazed out over the bay.  "How should we warn the others?"

"It'll be our words against Andreas' word and the way he doted on Soi, we'll be facing opposition unlike no other.  We've got no power, so, no one will really believe us…  Wait!" Séamus' face lit up excitedly.  "We could get the former Suzaku Seishi on our side."

"That's right!" Jeremiah replied with eagerness that matched his twin's.  "Let's go!"

"Try and stop me!" Séamus retorted, as his twin jumped down from the post upon which he sat.  Patting him on the shoulder, the pair ran into the city from the docks where they were.

~~~~

Her name rolled off his tongue with such musical notation, her beauty danced before him and her laughter was the glorious melody of hope that soared high in his heart, giving him hope for the future.  Her personality was magnetic and her boundless energy youthfully refreshing.  He was smitten by her and wasn't afraid to deny it.

Finally, she was what he had wanted; he had been unable to have her last time, for she had turned out to be nothing less than a he.  But, alas, now he had a second chance with her in all her beauty, both internal and external.

Taking her hand in his, he kissed the top.  "You are beautiful, Angelique.  Fate is finally being nice to us." He whispered, as he gazed at her.  He knew she wouldn't understand what he was saying, but the fact that they were together was enough for both.

She blushed modestly as she felt his warm lips caress the top of her hand.  Finally, she had him!  It had only been a dream for an eternity until now.  She could only dream of the former Suzaku Seishi, Hotohori singing praises of admiration to her and kissing her with such passion, even if just on the hand.

"_J'ai rêvé de ceci pendant des années." Angelique whispered back to Captain Stonewall.  She did know his name and some history from the kindly provided translation service of Lieutenant Faulkner, who had left a short while ago, to allow for the two to have time alone._

Leaning in, she kissed him on the cheek, her mouth moving next to his ear.  "_Je t'aime, Russell."_

He didn't need a translator for that.  He knew just exactly how she felt and no one needed to tell him that.  All he needed was his own good common sense and her.

"Angelique, you're all I ever wanted." He leaned in, pressing his forehead against hers before he reached and brushed strands of violet hair from her eyes.  "Nuriko."

"Hotohori…" Angelique whispered, leaning into that gentle touch.  How nice his hand felt against her face as obtrusive strands of hair were pushed from her face and moved aside.  She closed her eyes, the touch bringing her to cloud nine.

His lips moved, brushing lightly over Angelique's cheek.  He pulled back.  "Forgive me for being too forward.  I hope I didn't offend you."

Angelique sighed happily.  She turned and returned the kiss to him on his right cheek, her lips lingering, and her breath caressing his skin.  She didn't know what he had said to her.  She knew that even if she spoke, he wouldn't understand, so actions would speak what she couldn't in words, for between then was an invisible curtain.

"_Les mots sont injustifiés. Nous ne pouvons pas parler." Angelique brought a hand up to the captain's face, tracing a slender digit over the curves of his chin.  She knew that they didn't understand each other and that words were pointless.  Softly, she added words of passion, telling him, it was okay to kiss her._

"_Laissez nos baisers être nos mots."_

'God how I wish I could tell her how I really feel about her.  I hate not being able to talk to her in a common tongue, not even Latin!' Captain Stonewall thought bitterly, as he savoured the sweetness of the moment as it lay before him.

Grabbing her hand, Captain Stonewall stood up.  "I know you don't understand me, but you'll understand this, come with me, I have something I have to share with you!"

Inclining her head as she suppressed a giggle, Angelique nodded and stood up, her hand in Captain Stonewall's.  "_Merci beaucoup, _Russell_."  Well, it seemed the suitable thing to say, since he was holding out his hand to her – well, took it._

Well, at least she was in agreement to come along.

"I know you don't understand me, but, you'll like what I'm going to show you.  A friend of mine is a musician who plays the saxophone and I think you'll like the music." Captain Stonewall replied, even though his knew that she wouldn't really understand at all.

She couldn't help but to giggle at his enthusiasm as he pulled her out of the building and down to the waiting horseless carriage he owned.  Opening the door, he held it for her as she nodded graciously and daintily climbed in, making sure not to lift her skirt too high up the leg as she sat in the vehicle.

Shutting the door, Captain Stonewall moved and got into the driver's side.  Starting the vehicle, he put it into gear and guided it down the cobble stone road to the pub that Captain Andreas was playing at that night.

Captain Andreas, also known as Julien César Andreas, hadn't always been in the army.  As a young boy, he had been a musician.  His father had been a professional pianist with the symphony orchestra of New Orleans.    Captain Andreas had admired his father and often followed the man to rehearsal, where one day when the room was empty, he found an abandoned saxophone and picked up.  He had only been six years old when he had first lifted it up.

He caressed his hands over the keys, clacking it.  He looked over it, noting a reed at the mouth piece.  Raising it to his mouth, he tooted on it, creating a scale.  He giggled at the noise, but had greatly angered his father, who took a leather strap to the boy's hands.

The owner of the saxophone reprimanded the father of Julien for such actions and had given the boy back the saxophone and encouraged him to play a few more notes.

"The boy is a natural." The man had remarked and then added that he would be happy to teach Julien how to play the saxophone.

When he was ten years old, Julien had been taken with his tutor to the French Quarter in New Orleans, despite the objections of his conservative Catholic parents, both of Creole descent, who viewed that part of the city as being the housing for Satan to conduct his illicit transactions and lure the vulnerable into his wrath with empty promises.  When he was there, Julien had been taken with his tutor onto the stage in front of people at a local speak-easy.  There, he first put his skills into practice.

He hadn't been informed before hand, but he had been put on to do a solo, to debut his skills before the arts society that was the life of the French Quarter, the people who his parents looked down upon with such scorn, for they were nothing more than sinners indulging in the empty promises of the Satan.  Never once did Julien believe that, or think that he was playing solo.  That was, until the applause of respect and admiration rang through the thick blue air of the pub.

He fell in love with that sound.

He craved it.

As a teenager, he snuck out of his room at night in order to play for the art community.  Until the one night his mother caught him and seized his saxophone.  Outraged, he rebelled against her move, incinerating the room in the blink of an eye, his character of '_kokoro_' glaring in the centre of his forehead, causing her to step back, proclaiming him to have been caught by the devil and that he was a devil child.

That was fine by him; it gave him reason to run away.

He didn't have any real choices at the age of fifteen for where he could go.  Lying about his age, he enlisted in the army of the United States of America.

Despite having spent the last ten years of his life in the army, he had still found a free moment or two, such as the one tonight, to play with a local jazz band or go solo at the local pub.

He was still on stage, only tonight, he was in his military uniform, as that is what he was wearing when he found Aimée and discovered the sweet goddess named Soi he had been missing his life.  Of course, he was blissfully ignorant to the fact that she hated him now.  That was the furthest thing from his mind at the moment; as he took a break from the set and came down to sit at the table with Aimée and his colleague, Captain Stonewall and his date.

Pulling his chair next to Aimée, Captain Andreas slipped his arm around her and gazed at his friend, a rather cocky grin over his expression.  "Enjoying your little moment?"

"Yes, quite so, actually." Captain Stonewall replied.

"You don't mind that she speaks no English and you no French?"

"Most certainly it has come to mind, but bothers me in the least."

Nodding, the blond captain made a motion with his eyes to the floor.  "Going to take the lady out for a good old fashion swing?  Or, perhaps the jitterbug?"

"With my lovely lady no less." Captain Stonewall replied, as he took Angelique's hand, intending to guide her to the dance floor.

Gazing tentatively at Aimée, Angelique swallowed.  "Would you mind ordering me a kosher wine?"  She only asked her former friend because she didn't know about Captain Andreas' French.

"_Oui, mon ami." Aimée replied sweetly, almost too sweetly._

Angelique didn't think anything of her ex-friend's tone, as she nodded and joined Captain Stonewall on the dance floor for a moment of mirth and merriment.

Leaning in, Captain Andreas kissed Aimée on the cheek as she indifferently sat, waiting for him to leave.  He left her as the drinks that had been ordered were brought to the table.  At the same moment, she placed an order for Angelique.

Reaching into her hand bag, she pulled out a small tin and a pill.  She took a bill from her pocketbook and leaned in to the waiter.  "Put this in the drink."

Slipping the bill in his pocket casually, he nodded and went to fetch the order plus the little extra that Aimée had ordered.  He didn't think anything of it, nor question her possible motives.

The former Seiryuu Seishi Soi had handed the waiter a pill, but it just wasn't any pill, it was one she had got from Johann, which she had been told was popular for exterminating the unwanted and the problem that caused Germany's economic slump and fall.  The pill was best known as the suicide pill, made with a cyanide compound – destructive.  It was best given to the victim when they had an empty stomach, for that was when the pill worked the fastest.

Bringing the drink back to the table once adding it to the tab, the waiter left it on the table and left, unaware of what was about to happen.

On the bandstand, Captain Andreas was losing himself in the sweet embrace of his music, the notes encasing him in his own world, drawing him away from the pain of this world.

On the floor, Captain Stonewall skilfully swung Angelique around, as they moved in perfected sync with the other's body motions.  IT was as though they were made for the other's very movements.

On the side, Aimée watched through calculating eyes, her grey eyes catching every moved as she counted down to when she caught the girl that escaped her lover's wrath.

'Only now is it at the most minutes.' She thought as she listened to Andreas' claim another solo.  She did have to admit he was very skilled, the wafting string of notes that flowed from his saxophone were seductive.

She couldn't help it, in anticipation; she could feel her success flowing through her veins.  Her tongue slipped out, subtly running over her top lip.

Finally, after what could have been an eternity, the couple returned, Angelique remarking, much to Aimée's glee, "oh, how famished I am!"

Of course, Captain Stonewall could only nod, for he didn't know what her very words were.

Noting her drink was on the table, Angelique nodded her thanks to Aimée, who with cat-like eyes attentively observed the violet-haired young woman, waiting for the very moment for the suicide pill to eat away and digest the stomach.

The serving that Angelique had was quite modest; the glass was only just mere ounces, so she was finished in seconds.  She was adept to such vile tastes; hence, she failed to notice the revolting taste of the cyanide compound in her drink.

Angelique blinked.  Something didn't feel right.  She doubled over, clutching her stomach.  It wasn't her time of month, for that had come to pass.  What else could it have been?  Her drink…

It had tasted off now that she thought about.

She gasped.  Aimée couldn't have slipped something in, could she?  The thought sent chills down her spin, as she went to open her mouth, but nothing came out.  The cyanide had been taken into her system far too quickly, and only one thing she could utter before falling dead, her eyes open, and her body sprawled over the floor: "Aimée…it's your…fault…"  
  
Only Aimée and Captain Andreas, who in a panic came back to the table when he saw her fall, understood the words that had been uttered.

"Aimée, what does she mean by that?" he asked her, as he turned to her, speaking in English.

"I don't know." She replied.

That was a lie, for she did know.  It was her fault; she had murdered the other woman in cold blood.  But, surprisingly, it didn't bother her.

~~~~

"You say we have a spy in our vicinity now and she has her claws in Andreas?"

"Yes sir!" The twins replied in unison.

"Faulkner!" General Marshall called out.

"Sir!" the lieutenant replied.

"Find him and expel him from the mission, he's a danger to us.  He could leak vital information."

"Are you sure?  Can we trust what the twins have told us?" Lieutenant Faulkner replied, as he gazed over at General Marshall, who sat behind his desk, his eyes on the twins.

"There is a high stake in war, everything is at risk and nothing is sacred."

Nodding, the lieutenant left the room.  He didn't like what he was about to do, for he trusted Captain Andreas, well, until now.  He didn't want to expel him from the mission.  He decided to do the next best thing, take over the mission himself.  He needed a good fighter and Andreas more than met those qualifications…

**TBC**…

**Author's Notes**: well, we have almost reached the end now people!  I will be finishing this in one more chapter.  I already have the final chapter – the epilogue – written and ready to post.  I will be working on the last chapter while I'm overseas.  I hope I may be able to give a better feel for the battlefield setting – I hope to see where I want to set this.  So, this is my instalment before I am away from my computer for a month.  But, at least you know that I am leaving you with a promise to finish the final chapter.  I hope you have enjoy it so far, and don't forget to review, I would like to know what people honestly think about this.  ~ Ai-chan


	32. Preemptive Match

**Plura Ater Nox**

**Chapter 30**

Into the night she slunk, her feet moving over the cobblestone path with graceful silence, as she sought to escape before she could be questioned.  There was no point in lurking at the risk of capture.  The allied forces were showing gathering strength and intelligence; that was a sign of weakness for the Nazis, especially if there were too many factions.

She knew the Vichy government wouldn't come up short, nor would the Austrian, but the Italian government had gone belly up after an uprising and assistance from the allied forces captured Mussolini, the Italian dictator and his mistress for a public execution in the heart of the Vatican.  She had her doubts about the Easter Europeans, they were too good at shady dealings, untrustworthy, but at the same time valuable in such times.

She recalled Johann telling her of the German alliance system.  He explained to her that the Ukrainians (also very anti-semantic; almost as fanatically as the Germans) were the greatest ally against the incoming commie bastards (who she had learned were indirectly associated with the Jewry of Russia because one of the leading members of the Bolshevik uprising had been one…).  The rest of that rank and file of Slavs and gypsies were weak-willed and were too easily over-run.

The look on his face as he told her of his adventures on the Eastern Front as the German Blitzkrieg overran various countries in that area following the appeasement and the annexation of Austria.  She remembered that look; gleeful.  Never had she seen it before.  It had been the first and last time she ever saw it.  She had seen looks close, but never as close to when he spoke of the blitzkrieg to conquer the Eastern European countries.

She smiled at the thought, while she waited patiently in the darkness of the docks, adorned in the Nazi-issued uniform for women, concealed beneath a smart trench coat.  She kept her arms folded over her chest, as she gazed around, waiting for her contact to show.

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  She only took them out if she grew impatient while waiting for a contact.  They weren't a regular thing for her, even though she enjoyed the rich flavour as it filled her mouth and aroused her senses, relaxing her.

"The birds fly at midnight." A man, also dressed in a trench coat said in clipped French, heavily accent.

Aimée gazed over, exhaling a trail of smoke, as she gazed coldly at the contact through a haze of smoke.  "Over the Dead Sea." She replied.

Tipping up his hat, he walked next to her.  "What did you learn, Agent Beauregard?"  His eyes caught the light of the moon, as it shone through the light cloud coverage over the docks in Dun Laoghaire, just outside of Dublin, where she had made her contact with Captain Andreas and his allies.

"They have done extensive planning; this is old.  The two men leading the operation are Captain Julien César Andreas of the United States of America Armed Forces and Captain Russell Stonewall of the English Armed Forces.  They have begun to draft rebels from the IRA, who feel betrayed by the Germans for the multiple U-Boat attacks on Irish docks and on Irish merchant ships."  
  
She gazed around then peered closely at him, realising who her contact really was.  She didn't comment on that, but rather added the following:  "they have a handful of Seishi as well.  The two captains are respectfully Nakago and Hotohori.  There is Lieutenant Marcus Faulkner, a veteran from the Great War, who has joined their ranks.  He's better known as Chichiri.  Also working under them are, Tasuki, Suboshi and Amiboshi.  The general who is giving them the resources they need, General Dwight Marshall is Mitsukake, whose secretary, and military assistant planner, Chelsea Llewellyn, is Chiriko."

Raising the cigarette to her lips and inhaling thoughtfully, she took a couple of steps away then moved back to where her contact stood.  Clearing her throat, she continued with her report.  "With the help of IRA defects and a few men from the regiments of Andreas and Stonewall, as well as the Seishi, they plan to infiltrate Calais in order to make a back door attack on Dunkirk and drive the Germans to the sea.

"They are still fixing the finals bugs, while they train their men.  They plan to launch the attack in exactly one week at 0630 hours on the shore of Calais.  They have all modern arsenals that have been recently over to aid the US and allied forces on their campaign.

"And if I'm not mistaken, other regiments and companies in the allied forces are planning on other attacks; major infiltration attacks along the French coast."

While Aimée spoke, her contact took out a cigarette of his own.  The flame from the match that he struck against the rough surface to ignite the flame briefly lit up his face before he extinguished it.  He inhaled thoughtfully,  saying nothing.

Her grey eyes scrutinised him closely.  Exhaling a trail of smoke as she dropped the remains of the cigarette butt to the ground, the ashes scattering, she turned her gaze heavenward.  Using the toe of her boot, she ground out the smouldering remains, a line of smoke fading into the night air as she did thus.

"So, you escaped death."  It wasn't a question, but a blunt and to the point statement.

Agent Wherther Yorck gave a cold chuckle.  "It would seem it, wouldn't it?"

"It would, wouldn't it, Miboshi?!"

Taking a deep inhalation of the cigarette's rich flavour, Agent Yorck held the smoke in his mouth before he exhaled it through his nostrils.  He nodded.  "And you say that there are more Seiryuu Seishi working for the enemy?  How many have defected?"  
  
"Almost all, except you, me and Tomo.  I know nothing of Ashitare…" Aimée replied, as the two began to walk in the direction of the small craft that Yorck had acquired.

Yorck smiled knowingly.  "He was one of us this time, not one of the defects or traitors.  He was a long friend of mine, who died around the same time I did; only he had been killed by dissidents who were rising up against the Führer."

A nasty cunning smirk caressed his lips.  "My last vessel was killed at the hands of Father Faulkner, who you quoted to be Lieutenant Faulkner.  He thinks I'm dead, but doesn't know I took the body of the cardinal bishop who had excommunicated the veteran for acts of dark magic and satanic rituals."

"So he knows more than he should."  
  
"Too much.  He has to be the first to go." The former Seiryuu Seishi Miboshi ascended, as he stopped and sat on a crate left on the dock.  "He overheard one of my reports given into Van Eyke.  I don't know how much he heard, or how many, but he is likely to know something that he has reported to that pathetic group."

She nodded, as she watched him take a seat.  "What do you propose or what has Van Eyke told you the next move was to be?"

"He wants you to co-ordinate that.  He's placing trust in you, though I don't see why." Yorck flippantly remark, a snide smile over his lips, as he gazed at her, his nasty cat-like eyes scrutinising her.  "You're just a stupid little French girl is all, who merely defected to the right side."

As the words crossed his lips, he didn't notice the open-palm hand that was raised then lowered, aimed at his face with an alarming speed.  He had only a chance to finish his cruel remark, as Aimée's hand connected with his face, sending him tumbling to the ground off the crate upon which he sat so high and mighty, arrogance and confidence radiating from his aura.

"_Hakujin__ Raihou~"_

Stunned from the blow, Yorck groaned.  He lay on the ground, facing the sky, and could only stare in utter horror as dark clouds gathered above.  "Damnit."

That was all that left him before a bolt of lightening descended from the heavens, summarily frying him, making him a crispy and burnt Nazi agent.  He lay, twitching after the strike ended.

An anguished groan escaped him.  She had become much stronger than she had never been before.  He wasn't afraid to admit that.  What he didn't want to face, was that he was dying again.  It really sucked, it really did.  He knew the body he had chosen wouldn't survive the attack that the former Seiryuu Seishi Soi had delivered.

He lay, knowing he would die, as an old and familiar smirk crossed his lips, as he watched her leave.

Closing his eyes, he killed the body he had and briefly left the old body long enough for a little bit of revenge for the attack…

~~~~

His gaze was fixated out the window, his reflection faintly gazing back, as he rested a hand on the cool glass, lost in thought.  He never noticed anyone coming up behind him; he was already staring at his reflection, so the duplicated reflection went unnoticed.

"Brother, you look lost in thought."

"Maybe because I am."

"Are you thinking about what horror we're about to face?  The unknown world were about to fall into, not knowing what lies ahead for us, tomorrow and the days after?  The trauma of not knowing if you're going to live to see the future?"

Jeremiah turned to face Séamus.  "When I joined the army in America, I never imagined that I would have to fight in any war, in some unknown foreign place against a faceless enemy.  Now…I don't know what is going to happen.  Yes, I fear what lies ahead unknown to me…to us."

Leaning his forehead against his twin's, Jeremiah sighed softly.  "How did we ever get wrapped up in fighting in a war again?   Why couldn't we just live a life of peace for once…with no violence…no fighting…no death…"

Tears that took formation in his eyes, unheeded trickled down his face two parallel streams.

Reaching up, Séamus wiped away his twin's tears.  "We are only doing this because we are those who can fight to get this peace.  In this world, there are two choices: go and fight, risk death for the chance that the future will be brighter for future generations or run away and pretend that it isn't happening.  
  
"You done the latter before, now why don't you try fighting to get it?  You know that ignoring it won't make it go away.  I hate the idea as much as you, but I accept the fact that I have to fight.  Can I at least this time have my twin watching my back, as I watch his?"

Staring sorrowfully into the identical baby blue orbs, Jeremiah lamented, briefly closing his eyes, images rapidly flashing by his eyes; memories of an earlier life, one plagued by much death and fighting, no peace…only misery…

The sadden eyes of a mousy-haired girl danced around.  The piercing olive green eyes, quivering with tears, as she clutched one end of his flute, not wanting him to let go, as she expressed forgiveness for his sins, something he couldn't accept, as he tried to take his own life.

His body had been swept away down that rushing river.  He remembered nothing after that, except waking up to face an unknown couple who gave him a second chance to live a life of peace under the name of Kaika.

True he had been at peace…for once, but at what price?

Swallowing, he opened his eyes, gazing into his twin's.  "What do we do?  You know I don't want to fight, but I don't want to turn my back on you again."

Kissing his twin's forehead after pushing loose strands of hair back, Séamus sighed.  "I would say that you should fight, but you don't want to.

"I can't decide for you, my brother, you have to decide that yourself."

"I don't want to hurt you again, or betray you.  I'm going too…"

~~~~

'So, they have begun together.' Johann thought, as he turned off the makeshift radio.  He felt something amiss, despite that it was evidently Aimée that he had received the report from.  He didn't think she was quite herself.  Her chi didn't seem to be hers; it seemed to be someone else's.

His golden eyes narrowed.  'Damn you Yorck!  Your ass is mine when I see you again and I swear, I will personally send you to hell and back, though, I don't hate the devil that much.'

He reached into his pocket and pulled out his _shin_.  'Nobody crosses Tomo and takes what rightfully belongs to him, without first facing the consequences.'

A puff of smoke came up, engulfing the Lieutenant, who took on his old form.

From him, as he examined himself in the mirror, came a soft echoing spine-chilling cackle.

~~~~

Wondering back in silence, Aimée slipped into the quarters that were reserved for her under the protection of the base.  She had only nodded at the guards who said nothing.  Once alone, she removed her trench coat and began to slowly undress.

When she was down to only her slip, brassiere, underwear, garter and girdle, she turned, her arms covering her bosom, as the door opened, revealing Captain Julien César Andreas.  She growled ferally at him, angered that he had such nerve.

Chuckling softly, Julien sauntered over.  He was dressed in over his breeches and an under shirt from his uniform, which clung tightly to his muscular form.  He stopped in front of her, staking her in his arms.  "Now that you play hard to get, you're even more tempting than before.  I can't have you, I'll make you mine."

Her eyes were narrowed into such thin slits that the change in her eyes wasn't immediately obvious.  She hissed out scathingly, "get your damned hands off me, pervert!"

"Soi, I don't know how ways I can apologise for hurting you, but, I always loved you.  Can't you at least reciprocate?" Julien whispered huskily, pressing his lips to her slender neck.

Scoffing, she pushed him away.  "Get off me and get out of my room before I scream bloody murder for everyone to hear!" she threatened, picking up the metal nail file on the night-stand.

Julien actually looked sincerely hurt.  He blinked in shock as he stared incredulously at her, not quite knowing what to think.  She had been acting very differently earlier, warmer.  Now she was acting hostile again.  He just didn't understand…

"Let the woman go, Yorck." A deep sultry male voice hissed in soft German.

Julien looked around quickly, trying to find the source of the voice.  He gave up, once picking up a distinct chi.  That of Tomo…  So…it would appear that the man who dared to steal Soi from him was here…

"I don't know what you're talking about." Yorck replied, his voice slightly feminine.  "I'm fine; I'm myself, Johann."

Julien's eyes narrowed.  So, it seemed that the body of Aimée was merely just a body; she had been pushed into the back as this guy Yorck, Miboshi's reincarnation, and had a hold on the reincarnated form of Soi.

The azure kanji of _kokoro glowed menacingly on the centre of his forehead.  "You heard him, let the girl go!"  Julien growled scathingly._

"So it would seem that this little stupid French girl has toyed with the affection of two little men who can only think with their dicks; they can't see beyond that." Yorck purred nastily.

Smirking, _Tomo slithered out from the shadows, "you'd say that wouldn't you?  You don't have any balls, after all; you were circumcised and only spared the gas chamber because your parents converted just before the Führer got into power."_

He had been intending to make this Yorck son of a bitch know how he felt, but at the appearance of _Tomo, Julien's priorities shifted.  He may have hated Yorck for taking over Aimée's body, but he hated Van Eyke more for taking Aimée entirely from him._

"How nice of you to show up, any last words before I kill you?" Julien seethed hatefully, raising a hand wielding a glowing ball of chi.

The other Seishi smirked.  "Go on, kill me…  But you still won't get your dear Soi back.  She no longer cares for you, she sees through your façade."  He purred, his golden eyes fixed intently on his former friend and ally.  "She hates you and only used you for her own ends."

Feeling insulted, which he rightfully was, Julien gave a flick of the finger, sending the chi blast spirally rapidly towards _Tomo_, who merely stood there, unmoving.  The blast hit him at full forces, knocking him back.  Falling to his knees, he collapsed, his body vanishing, the only remains being his S_hin_.

The entity of Aimée within her own body, suppressed by the will of Yorck, gave an anguished cry when her dearly beloved got brutally murdered without the blink of an eye, by the man who claimed to also love her…

The loss was too much for her.  She yearned to get out and just hold that shin; she knew that she wouldn't be able to hold his body.   Still, she wanted just to hold something of his, anything; inhale the scent and remember…

Giving a shrill scream, she tried to break from the barrier shrouding her, throwing herself against it, resulting in Yorck gasping out in surprise, unready for the attack, and hence, weak on the defences.  He found himself in a struggle to regain control.  But it would be too little too late, as he would be cast from the body without the person killing themselves.  
  
Thrown against the wall, Yorck cried out in pain before vanishing into nothingness.  
  
Collapsing to her knees, Aimée passed out.  Before she hit the ground, her limp form was caught by Julien.  He held her body close to his.  'I'll make you mine yet.'

**TBC**…

**Author's Notes**: Ah, you thought I would be ending it here, didn't you?  I got some inspiration while I was away last month, so I have some more to do before I will be ending this.  Don't worry, there is more to come and it'll be good.  The final battle scene will be worth the wait.  *wink* and I bet you didn't expect some of the twists in this chapter, eh?  I hope you all liked it.  Don't forget to R&R!  Thanks.


	33. Night of Rebirth

****

Plura Ater Nox

Chapter 31

She lay in bed, her head splitting in anguishing pain. The light that penetrated her eyes when she first opened her eyes after passing out was painful. She let out a groan, as she moved her arm to shield her line of vision, before she sat up suddenly, realising she in bed dressed in only her lingerie.

She hadn't the faintest clue how or why she was in bed and of all things, in her lingerie. She blinked, continuing to stare down, only imagining what possible reason there could be for such a thing. Of course, she really couldn't think of anything.

She moaned softly, closing her eyes, as she raised a hand to her head, as she went through all possibilities as to why she wound up like this. She couldn't think of any reason why she was like this…

Then it hit her as her eyes perused the room, landing on the forgotten _shin_ in the corner of the room.

Giving a cry, feeling her heart catch in her throat, Aimée jumped out, reaching for it.

Tears stung her eyes as she clutched the only remains of Johann that she had. The shin was held in the heat of her palm, warmed by her tears. She wept for what she lost, the only man she had ever loved who loved her back as she loved him.

The shin she clutched tightly lit up, pulling from her hands, landing on the floor, as a green sprout shot up, a blossom budding a top. From there, the bud turned into a rose, which had in the centre a small crystal dew drop, which rested on a petal before sliding off, splashing on the floor. From that dew drop, in the shroud of crystal clear water, rose up Johann, clutching the rose. The water fell, revealing his form, lightly sprinkled in dew droplets, his hair glistening with it.  
"I'm not easily killed, my dear, Aimée."

Gasping out, she gave an ecstatic cry, casting herself into his arms, weeping in happiness. "Oh god…oh god… Thank god…"

Smiling softly, he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head. "I had planned for the idea that I would get killed, so I sent in an illusion to take my place." He cupped her face in his hands. "Yorck is gone. He won't hurt you now, no one will. Not as long as I'm around to protect you."

She couldn't speak, only hold him close, inhaling his scent, assuring herself that the person she witnessed dying had only been an illusionary figure falling to the ground burnt to death.

"Don't leave me…" she gasped out between relieved sobs.

Stroking her hair, he smiled softly. "I won't. But, I must return to my post, can I entrust you to fulfil the remainder of the task of luring the so-called 'Allied Forces' into a trap, that will lay them to waste before the might that is Germany?!"

She nodded, as he gently stroked her cheek before kissing her softly and vanishing into thin air.

'I won't let you down.'

~~~~

He stood on the corner near her house, his soft brown eyes looking up at the window that was hers, through long fiery red-bangs that hung limply in his face, drenched with sweat. He shifted uneasily, his palms sweaty. He had been standing here for quite some time. He had been doing this for about six months now. He couldn't find the courage to go up to ask her…

He still spoke to her at the base. That he did smoothly. He never sweated anxiously around her; courting her was an easy task. But…to dare to ask her such a question sent his mind into spasms of delirium.

He ran his fingers through his damp hair.

He feared rejection.

There was a war on and he knew that Chelsea wouldn't commit to a life-long relationship, especially at the risk of him getting killed in action. He sighed morosely. 'I wish there was an easier way to go about this… This is mad!'

He felt like tearing his hair out in the midst of frustration.

"Chelsea, will you marry me?" He whispered out the words. In practice it was easy. He didn't choke on his words. They crossed his lips with ease.  
The light up in her apartment had faded, but he hadn't noticed, or that someone was near him. He didn't know that anyone was there, until he got a response to his question.

"Yes I will, Brennan." She replied. She wrapped her arms around him.

Chelsea had been standing behind him for the last minute, long enough to hear his practice. She didn't want to say anything quite yet. She was enjoying his soft voice against the gentle breeze. She had watched him with tears misting in her eyes.

Turning around, Brennan swept her off her feet.

Giggling, Chelsea wrapped her arms around his neck holding him close. This was the first time since the start of the war had she felt this happy. A shred of hope was returned to her tired soul. There was a silver lining in the storm cloud. Just like her older brother had once told her, "God cannot close a door without opening a window".

Setting her down, Brennan passionately kissed her before he broke apart from her, going down on one knee and taking her hand in his. "Chelsea Llewellyn, will you give the honour of having your hand in holy matrimony?"

Tears misted in her eyes. "Yes...oh yes. Yes I will, Brennan." She cried out happily, falling to her knees and throwing her arms around his neck, kissing him deeply.

Grabbing her hand, Brennan stood up, pulling her along. "Then let's elope tonight! There'll be a minister who will do this."

~~~~

Through a miracle of sorts, they had escaped a fate so horrible that words failed to describe it. They had been on the run for about a year. It was hard to move, especially with the Germans occupying all of Europe on such a grand scale. Neither had ever imagined that they would get this far. They had been pessimistic the day that a man of the SS had come to them promising them freedom. He then turned on them, betraying them and killing their mother.

The man had been killed by the younger of the siblings, a feisty young boy, whose name was well-suited for his demeanour. Though, these days it didn't seem suited for him, for he was very docile and followed his sister's orders carefully. He didn't want either of them to get caught, for if they did, they would be captured and taken to one of the legendary death camps.

They moved silently through the night, over the lush green lands that belonged to the French farmers. Soon thanks to his sister's patience, they would be arriving in the coastal town of Calais, where they would find someone who would kindly help them. From there, they would find freedom from the brutal dictatorship of Hitler.

On the horizon sat the small quaint French village they were seeking. It seemed undisturbed from a distance. In the night sky, it was utterly picture perfect, not a flaw to it. Silhouetted against the velvet starry-night sky was the high steeple of the Cathedral in the centre of the town, with the small houses surrounding it symmetrically. The houses were built together very closely and appeared to not be more than one or two floors high. A faint light came from the town, just enough to light the path for the night visitor.

Carefully placed irrigation canals ran into the village. They were parallel to each other. They separated each of the farmers' fielders, which seemed to be built on the seigniorial system. From the ground were green sprouts, all planted in perfect symmetry to each other. The leaves of the crops gently blew in the soft midnight breeze.

As they drew closer to the village of Calais, the two siblings past a modest graveyard. The graveyard was encased by well-kept shrubbery. It was a soft emerald green, but under the moonlight of the night sky, it was more of a dark jade green. This was the fence surrounded the graveyard for the most part, except for the Iron Gate at the front. In the graveyard itself were the tombstones of the buried. Their headstones were placed in a parallel and in a very simple yet intricate geometrical pattern, with a large statue set in the centre. It appeared to be the immaculate virgin.

Now, unlike back in Innsbruck, Austria, they didn't have the comfort of trees surrounded them. There were very few out here. It was evident that they had been cleared a long time ago by the French in order to transform the land into profitable farmland.

Taking her brother's hand, the girl led her brother over to a small cliff. "We'll stay here for the night. It's not the best, but we're in France. I heard from locals that the north hates the Germans; it's the Vichy government in the south that is shipping out our people." She explained, as she wrapped her cloak tightly around her body.

Like her brother, she didn't have much on her person. When the SS officers had left, she had released her illusion that had kept her and her brother safe from the SS Officers. She had never trusted Agent Keplar. He was far too pretentious for her liking. Even though they had been lovers in the previous life, she had no reason to trust him.

Her brother had been right about him; he was right to be suspicious. That's why she had erected the illusion. It had been order to protect them from the man and his colleagues. She felt safe in the world of her illusion and felt that her brother was safe. But she felt regret for her actions because she had forgotten to protect their beloved mother. Their mother had been brutally slain by those four German SS officers.

Sighing, the young man sat in the dirt. He looked sadly to his sister. "Arielle, do we have any or crackers? I'm hungry."

The young woman's brow furrowed. She reached under her cloak and took out the bag of food she carried with her. Her brother carried anything that could get them money. They would play for pennies. They were skilled on instruments, so he carried a flute and a piccolo. He also carried a few possessions he had managed to get from the house. She carried the food and a couple of clothing items for them. They had nothing else in the way of worldly possessions. The only item they had was a few coins that they used in order to buy bread and if they were lucky, fruit.

Pulling out her small cloth sack, she opened it. Searching through, she found half an apple. She pulled out a knife. "Here, we'll share this. It'll tide us over until morning breaks. Once it does, we can go into town and see if we can get help or get pointed in the right direction."

After his sister cut up the apple into two equal portions, while he ate his, he queried, "Why didn't we stay in Paris? We could have hid there, or underground! I hear they do that in London."

Arielle smiled softly. Her brother could still be amusing. He could see a lighter side to this bleak dismal existence that they were leading at the time. "I don't know, maybe it's true. But we'll have to see. Right now, our only concern is getting out of here."

"Where are we going to go?" Achan asked, as he calmly munched on the little apple he had got. This was his supper. These meagre meals weren't as bad as the ones they had got in the ghetto. At least when he and his sister had to fend for themselves, they could get better food than what they got from the Germans.

"Either the United States of America or Canada; Mama has family over there. She showed me letters when I was younger. The letters were filled with hope and a future that wasn't preordained by racist Germans who think that just because they have blue eyes and blonde hair that they are superior and all of the rest of us are inferior."

"How will we get there? We have no money, except for a few coins!"

"We'll get to London first and earn our money there. Or…we'll try and find a way to land as refugees." Arielle sighed softly. "Though who will help a couple of vagabond children…" tears fell from her eyes.

"We aren't children! We're almost adults, or at least you are! We'll get something. You got us this far, Arielle, you can get us the rest of the way. Please, don't give up now!" Achan gripped his sister by her shoulders, staring her hard in the eye. "You made me go on every time I wanted to curl up and die. You promised me a better life every time I was sad. You told me that we would get out of here and over to some place better… You said we would make it. You can't give up now! We're almost there! C'mon, just one more country!

"When I started to give up hope as we travelled through Sudetenland, you dragged me along against my will, saying promises of a place where we would be happy. You saved us from the SS officers, and you're now giving up? When we're so close?"

Closing her eyes as she listened to her brother's words, she heard her own voice over taking his. Those words were very similar to the ones of encouragement she had said to him on their journey. She had told him the same thing. She had given him hope and made promises that they would be ok and that they would escape this nightmare forever. He was right, she couldn't give up now, not after all she had said and had done up to this point.

She was just very exhausted and wanted to lie down on a comfy bed and sleep. That's all she wanted really. Just to lie on a comfy bed and sleep. A hot bath would also be nice. That is what she was missing right now. She didn't mind the scantly meals or the simple clothing. She could deal with the few worldly possessions they had. She just longed for a roof over her head and a bed under her back.

She gave a small smile. "Sorry, Achan, I'm just really tired and all I want to do right now is lie on a soft mattress and sleep. I want to bring the thick blankets around my body and cuddle into the bed, hugging my pillow."

"It's okay, Arielle, I want to too…" Achan replied, as he took his cloak and turned it into a pillow. It was a warm night out, so he didn't need anything to cover him while he slept. He was fine just like that. Groaning contently, he stretched back and curled up, his arm under his cloak. "Good night, Arielle."

"Good night." She whispered. She didn't move to do the same thing. Instead, she sat, leaning against the rocks that were behind them. She didn't know if she could sleep. So, she decided to stay awake. Sun rise wasn't too far off anyway….

~~~~

****

Author's Notes: Ah, I bet that surprised you, didn't it? You were expecting them to be dead? Hey, I already brought Miboshi back once. Why don't I do it for a few others (well, at least with those who it is plausible). Anyway, we are getting closer to the final chapter. I hope you're enjoying this. Feel free to tell me what you think.


	34. Shattered Alliance

****

Plura Ater Nox

Chapter 32

General Dwight Marshall left the small-scale campaign in the capable hands of Captain Russell Stonewall and Captain JC Andreas, with Lieutenant Marcus Faulkner as second in command and the one who made the calls. The general trusted his friend and fellow veteran from the first war more than he trusted the new generation officers.

He had left instructions with Chelsea for her to take over as a temporary messenger between the base and the headquarters on Downing Street and White Hall Street. The messenger who normally held this post was being sent to the front as part of the small army that was issued to the allied captains. That messenger was the best they had and it was time to send him it.

This decision came after General Marshall had finished a conference call with Prime Minister Churchill, who explain that D-Day was upon them and the allied forces would be launching a full-scale attack on the coast of France. The Prime Minister also said that any small-scale attacks were left to the discretion of the officers, who saw it fit to attack weaknesses in the German defence line.

Once being told such, General Marshall relayed the plans of his captains over to Prime Minister Churchill, whom he greatly respected and saw as a man who would put an end to the German menace. He explained what exactly was going to be done and what they had discovered. He left out the small details such as the fact that the men heading the campaign all had a past together in ancient China and had decided to use weapons only until they were facing the Germans alone and then would rain fire and brimstone on those Nazis…literally.

Following the conference call, the general packed up and went out of his office and turned to his secretary. "Miss Llewellyn, I need your help. With the others gone, you're the only one I can trust. I need you to accompany me to London."  
  
"Sir!" Chelsea replied, saluting his smartly. She then lowered her hand. "But I thought you wanted me to be the messenger?"

"I do, but I need you to do your correspondence from headquarters on Downing Street. There is going to be a large influx of calls in from the front and they will require more secretaries who they don't want to train." General Marshall explained.

"When does the boat leave sir?"  
  
"In forty-five minutes. Don't worry about bringing anything. There are supplies over in London." The general replied, as he locked the door to his office. He had everything he needed in his briefcase that he had left by Chelsea's desk.

"Yes sir. Do I need anything from my desk?" Chelsea asked, as she unconsciously twirled the simple yet elegant engagement ring that Brennan had given her. She bit her lip. She wanted to ask more, but she didn't want to impose. It was enough of an honour to be allowed to go to the military headquarters in London.

The general shook his head.

Smiling up at him, Chelsea hid her feelings of anxiety. She had heard of the routine German bombardment of London and feared for her life if she ever had to go. Never had she in her wildest dreams thought she would go to London in the heat of the war.

~~~~

Meanwhile, while General Marshall and Chelsea prepared to embark on a call to London, the group that would be leading a small-scale invasion on the coast of France was preparing to leave the dock at the allied base in southern England. They planned on landing in the dark of the night, utilising the blackness of the night and the lack of light to their advantage in order to get a decent foothold on the coast before their GI machine guns rained Nazi hell upon the force.

"Attention!" Captain Stonewall stood at the head of the group; his eyes narrow, as his gaze shifted over the rank and file under his command. "Men, take a knee."

Complying, the small force stopped what it was doing and turned to face the English Captain, their attention fully directed to him. Many of them had been with him from the start of the war. They had been with him when they had been in Dunkirk. He had been their confidence, hope and courage when it looked like the Germans would do them in.

Mixed with them was the group of men that had been under the command of Captain JC Andreas. The two captains had merged their groups together into one larger force. They shared the role of leader equally.

To the side, there was a small group of local men who had taken up arms after the Nazis had shown their true colours. These men had once formed a chunk of the IRA, a rebel force that hated England and pledged allegiance to the Nazi-Germans. They wore guerrilla combat uniforms, setting them apart from the military. They too however, did put their names up in the name of peace and victory when two of their fellow rebels had told them of a chance to return a favour to the Germans who betrayed them.

While they listened wholeheartedly to the speech given by the captain, they didn't follow his order; they placed their loyalties with Séamus Kennedy and Brennan Mackenzie, who they trusted to lead them. These men were very young and to them, Séamus and Brennan spoke volumes of years of experience. They entrusted their lives to these two men.

Clearing his throat, Captain Stonewall began, "Men, we've been through a lot. We lost men at the battle for Dunkirk. Many of them nobly gave their lives so that their families could live in peace for another day. Those who didn't die are those who are before me now. It is now your turn to pick up the torch and light the flame.

"I won't lie to you. I can't say how many of you will live and how many of you will graciously sacrifice your lives for the good of your country, but there is going to be a cost if we are going to rid Europe of the evil that has it in its iron grip. By heaven or hell, we will expel those Nazi and bring those who committed atrocities to justice!"

Captain Stonewall removed his hat and ran his fingers through his hair and turned away from his men for a minute before he turned back to continue his pre-victory speech. His sighed; his thoughts straying briefly over to Angelique, a kind-hearted woman who's life had been prematurely taken from her.

A melancholic sigh caressed his lips as he turned back. He knew it was the fault of the Nazis that she had been killed. Her life would have been spared otherwise.

Inflamed with passion, he continued, "I cannot promise you that this will be an easy fight. We have learned that the Nazis are bloody nasty bastards who don't go down easily. There will be a lot of blood and toil, but I do promise you victory. Even if you die before we achieve it, you will have done your part to make this world a better place.

"And hold to your heart these words. Prime Minister Churchill once said, _without victory, there is no survival_. And you know what, he was right.

"We have survived this far. Victory will be ours!"

Cheers erupted from the small group gathered as a rippling chorus of "long live the king!" and "god bless America!" sounded from the gathered rank and file.

Captain Andreas watched silently. He waited until Stonewall stepped aside. Taking the chance, he paced in front of the group. He pivoted to face the group. He was going to address his platoon directly, when Séamus stepped forward and announced, "The IRA volunteers are leaving ahead of the group. We will look like locals. We can scout the area and transmit information back. The Germans won't count on us doing this."

"You fool! You're leaving without back-up! It'll be your death!" Captain Andreas slapped the boy across the face. "Where the bloody hell is your head? That is against the plan. No one faces the damned Germans without a fucking Panzer division to plough through the Siegfried Line!"

"We aren't under your bloody command, you foolish Yankee." Séamus retorted angrily, his eyes flaring. "My men will never follow you, even out of morbid curiosity! You let a damned Nazi infiltrate our ranks all because you're foolishly blinded by an ancient love for some woman that you never had the guts to tell and is now playing you for a patsy!"

The icy sapphire blue eyes of Captain JC Andreas filled with rage. The azure kanji of _kokoro_ flashed, as his aura became pronounced. "How dare you, boy! I'm your superior and you will show me respect."

"No, we never will." Séamus replied scathing, his words biting. He pivoted. "C'mon men, we'll launch our own campaign. We'll teach those Nazis that betraying the IRA is a costly error!"

"You gave your word and you're backing out, what kind of man are you, Kennedy?"

"I'm a man of honour; a man who will not lead his men to a meaningless death."

"Why shouldn't I be surprised? Your brother turned his back on honour and dignity. The fact that you followed is only a confirmation of weakness in your family blood's line."

"Then count me into, you self-righteous asshole." Brennan declared. "I'm with Kennedy and Dallas. They are men of honour. I sooner trust my life in their hands than I ever would in yours. At least they have common sense."

"Are you sure?" Captain Stonewall asked softly.

"Sure as they are. I trust Kennedy's common sense. He's saved my ass plenty of times, and he'll pull through. He's loyal to those who return it." Brennan replied curtly, before he turned.

Jeremiah and Séamus pivoted as well and follow Brennan out of the area, their men in stride behind them.

She stood on the side lines. She had been watching the whole exchange and not liking it one bit. A frown caressed Aimée's features. That was supposed to happen! She growled mentally. This certainly put a dent in the events that were supposed to follow.

Captain Andreas turned to Captain Stonewall. "We have to make a change of plans stat! The IRA defected and proved to be a weak-kneed militia that only looks out for it-self."

"Andreas, D-Day is upon us, we can't make any changes now! We have to keep to the plan. They were only a small of it." Captain Stonewall explained.

"I don't take kindly to any forms of insubordination." Captain Andreas retorted angrily. "I want a plan that will be suitable to our needs."

"This one is."

"No it isn't!"

"We are here; it's too late to change it now."

"It's not too late. We are going to make the changes now."

"Fine, let it be that. Then you make the changes to your plans without us." Captain Stonewall replied icily. He turned and faced his men. "Attention! Follow me; we're leaving this dishonourable riff-raff behind. We will not follow anyone who will not honour his word!"

"Sir!" There was a rippling chorus through the British ranks as they stood up and grabbed their Tommy guns.

Aimée bristled in anger. This was falling apart! This wasn't supposed to be happening! They were supposed to be working together, not fighting each other. How could she make her plan work now if these incompetents couldn't work together? She needed to think of something and fast!

Her eyes strayed over to Julien César. She smirked to herself. At least she would accomplish part of her plan. It wouldn't have the same fulfilment, but it would suit her needs… 

With an air of self-satisfaction, Captain Russell Stonewall broke the last of the alliance and led his men on a search for a man they could trust into.

A young man, a private trotted up to the captain's side. "Sir! Permission to speak?"

"Permission granted."

"Could we join General Eisenhower, General Montgomery or General Patton?" the private asked. "It's just a suggestion, sir."

"Noted, private. Private, you're dismissed." 

"Thank you for your consideration, sir."

"Men! I need one who is quick to take haste and find me General Patton, General Eisenhower or General Montgomery." Captain Stonewall turned sharply and held up his hands. "If anyone is, step forward!"

"I am, sir!" the same private replied eagerly, taking a step forward. 

Reaching into his jacket, he too out a writing tool and a piece of paper. Scribbling the note, Stonewall held it out to the private. "God speed, son."

"Yes sir!"

"Son, what's your name?"

"Private Henry Howorth."

Captain Stonewall saluted the boy. "You're dismissed, private."

"Sir!" Private Howorth saluted his superior and dropped his weapons to the ground and ran with speed in the direction of where the American barracks were. He vanished against the horizon quickly.

Spotting a member of the United States Armed Forces by the Thunderbird patch on the sleeve, Howorth ran over to him. "Private Howorth of the Royal Armed Forces, serving under General Dwight Marshall! I have a message for General George Patton from my captain, Russell Stonewall."

Acknowledging his ally, the other private led his English counterpart over to where his superior was.

"Sir! I have a man from the ranks of General Dwight Marshall, with a message from Captain Russell Stonewall." The private explained, after he got permission to speak. "He wishes to speak to General Patton."

The officer turned to Private Howorth. "Go with haste, the general is about to address the 3rd army. Get to him before he starts."

Saluting the officer, Howorth ran for all he was worth. He kept the directions in his head and in a matter of two minutes, found the man in question.

Smartly saluting the American General, Private Howorth held out the paper he had been given. "General Patton, sir! I bring you a message from Captain Russell Stonewall, officer in the ranks serving General Dwight Marshall."

Taking it, General George Patton scanned the note and handed it back to the boy. "Tell your captain I welcome the company and its commitment to driving that son of a bitch back to hell."

"Sir! It'll be an honour to serve you!" Private Howorth replied, saluting the general again before he turned and ran back to where he had left his group awaiting the reply.

Gazing around, Stonewall waited patiently for his runner to return with the message. He began to wonder if the youth was having any trouble. He had to remind himself that he had sent the boy off to track down three high ranking officers, so finding them was a bit of a hit and miss task.

His eyes lit up when he saw his private return.

"Sir!" The private ran up to his captain. "General Patton will let us work with him."

"Good work, Private Howorth." Captain Stonewall replied, saluting the young man.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Men, we are going to join the barracks of the 3rd Army. Our small-scale force has fallen apart. We will not lay any Nazi bastards to waste if we go into by ourselves. This is why we have allies." Captain Stonewall, as he led the march over to where the 3rd Army, 6th Division was.

"…_no bastard ever won a war by dying for his country. You won it by making the other poor dumb bastard die for his country..._"

The men under the command of Captain Russell Stonewall took a knee at the back of the rank and file, their sites fixated toward the front where General Patton could be seen preaching to his men, boosting their morale. They didn't turn to their captain; they remained intent on listening to the words of this veteran fighter.

Sighing softly, Captain Stonewall turned his gaze to the sky as he listened to the words of the general. His thoughts trailing from the reality of war to the earlier life and Nuriko… They bounced back to the presence and Angelique.

He shut his eyes, his heart heavy. How he wished he could have had a chance with Angelique. If Nuriko had really been a woman, he would have married her instead of Houki, who had a stunningly identical appearance to Nuriko. That chance had been blown, and when he had been presented with a second chance that had seemed like a pleasing, it had been stolen away from him in a shot of bitter alcohol and quick dissolving pills.

~~~~

True to their word, the IRA volunteers had left ahead of the other allied forces. They were on a lone merchant ship sailing across the English Channel. Séamus was leading them, with Jeremiah and Brennan serving him as his advisors. They would lead the group into Calais and destroy the German forces holding base there.

Leaning on the rail of the merchant ship, Séamus smoked a cigarette, inhaling slowly, as he watched the ship come closer to land. He could see the far off French coast. They would be there soon, so long as the German U-boats didn't blow them out of the water.

Next to him stood Jeremiah, who just stared out at the water, not saying anything for a long moment before he drew a deep breath. "It took a lot of courage to stand up to Andreas."

"You did it before, didn't you?"

"True, I did." Jeremiah nodded and sighed. "I wonder if Stonewall is still working on the same team as Andreas?" he mused.

"I heard before we left that he defected." Brennan explained, as he wandered up to the twins.

"It might have been a good idea to join him, he seemed decent." Jeremiah remarked.

Séamus shrugged and flicked the butt of his cigarette into the water. "But it's too late for that now." He turned and headed back to the cabin.

****

TBC…

****

Author's Notes: it looks like it's going to take a while for this to end, eh? I guess none of you expected me to do this? Actually, neither did I. That's the beauty of this. Most of this comes as I type, it is hardly pre-planned. The idea to use a historical figure in this wasn't mine, it came from my Neesan, who suggested that I used General Patton. I agreed… I guess it added a little flavour. Also, Downing and White Hall are streets in London where the Cabinet War Rooms are located. It's where all the parliamentary meetings during WWII were held.


	35. Changing Tides

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Plura Ater Nox

Chapter 33

Two surely privates were enjoying a smoke. The first flicked the remains of the cigarette to the ground. "Hey, you know that wench that Andreas hangs on to; I've heard rumours about her."

"Oh, and that would be?" the second replied, arching an eyebrow in curiosity. He had been wondering what the deal with that woman was. She was the nastiest thing as far as skirts went. She scared the living crap out of him. She had a glare that made him pee his pants in sheer fear.

"She's apparently a spy for the krauts. She's sleeping with Andreas in order to get information. She has a man back in France that she is attached to, who is an officer with those bastard Nazis. She also murdered a poor Jewish bitch in front of Andreas and some British officer using a cyanide suicide pill."

"And Andreas is letting her get away with this?!" the second private asked, staring incredulously at his friend. "This is such horse dung! This has got to be the dumbest thing I've ever heard. Andreas may have the brains of a bayou hick, but he's not that gullible!"

"Then why has she seduced him?!" the private retorted, as he pulled out a pack of Marlboros and whipped out a slender cigarette. He pulled out his box of matches. Balancing the cigarette between his lips, he added, "He's a dumb Creole from the bayou, who is easily seduced by a can house chippy." 

"She looks the part. She's cheap as they come. I bet I could lay her as easily as the next bastard. She's got that lay me look about her."

"And you've got that dead but you don't it look around you." She purred, as she slithered up behind them. She had both hands raised, each crackling with lightening. "You know too much, so therefore, you can't be allowed to live."

Both privates gasped in shock as the electricity surged through their bodies, sending them each into spasms of shock. Each twitched and writhed, convulsing under the power of the lightening, before falling to the floor, dead.

Aimée snorted disdainfully. "Smart boys, but too easy to dispose of… If the others had been this easy, Andreas would completely clueless." She smirked to herself. "At least I have a tool to stop him from ever knowing…"

She thought of the skill she had carried over from her last life. It was the _Bouchi Spell_. She had control of its deadly power. She could make it work in her favour. She had already given Johann a positive dose of the medicine, while turning it against Andreas, weakening him so that she could mould him and manipulate him. She was subtly controlling what he knew about her.

She had a hold on him and his men. She always took care of those who voiced scepticism. She was swift about disposing of those who posed a threat. The only ones she hadn't got to were those who had conveniently defected.

Dusting off her hands, she smirked to herself, admiring her swift work. She reminded herself that she should only do this briefly and leave the scene as quickly as possible so that no one would suspect her. She had learnt her lesson from when Séamus had nearly blown her cover.

She knew how to cover her tracks and she was close to achieving her ends…

'He's such a stupid little Yankee. If only he knew I could care less about his pathetic existence.' She thought in amusement, as she wandered down the hall of the barracks. She was alone with just her thoughts. No one in the ranks would ever know.

Her eyes narrowed hatefully. 'Except for the three that have escaped my wrath… they will pay dearly for that. Their lives shall be the price tag on crossing me and putting a freeze on my plans.'

Turning, she sharply pivoted on her heel and headed to her room. She had a radio call to make to her home base and grudgingly inform Johann of this fact. She felt that she would be putting her life on the line, for the Nazis weren't patient people in the site of failure. They didn't take it.

She didn't want to report in, but she felt it was her duty. She wore the Swastika, a distinguishing symbol of honour and prestige. She felt that when Johann had given her such a task that she must have been more than just a small Parisian girl if she had earned it. She knew that if she it publicly displayed on her attire; she'd be shunned and taken prisoner.

"Aimée, I need to speak to you."

Yelping, she turned, coming face to face with Captain Andreas, who wore a grim expression, his sapphire blue eyes staring down coldly at her. She stared back as she regained her composure. Pushing her shoulders back, her pride beaming, she replied, "why?" Her tone was curt.

"I prefer to speak to you in your room." He replied, taking her by the elbow, aiming to escort her. He kept his sights dead ahead. "I'm not about to jump to conclusions, but several of my men have come to be wit statements about you, which were less than flattering. I frankly didn't believe much of it until the mysterious and frequently occurring deaths of my men increased."

He stopped at the door, opening it and leading her. He indicated for her to take a seat. He walked over to the small chest and opened it. "I was quite shocked at what it turned up, Miss Beauregard. Now, I'm going to give you a chance to confess or I will lay down an accusation and deal with you how I see fit."

"I have nothing to confess." She replied with a level tone and a straight face.

He turned and held up the offending item, with the blatant Swastika standing out. "Then how to you explain this? This certainly is nothing like Miss St. Pierre wore when Stonewall and I caught her fleeing France and coming into Ireland. She had on the military uniform. This is more suitable to the female secretarial staff serving the krauts.  
  
"Now, I would have assumed that someone might have planted it here to frame you, but, when the mysterious deaths of my men began to pick up pace, I took note of something, a chi. I felt a certain chi hit a high point then die down. It didn't seem to be that of Stonewall. It wasn't Kennedy or Dallas, or even Mackenzie in his weaker moments. Marshall has honour and Faulkner has better things than to kill people, so it left one person, you."

"You can't prove that when these men died that I did it. For all you know, I could been doing target practice or defending myself." Aimée replied calmly.

Captain Andreas sighed, as he held the uniform in hand, his sights fixated on her. "Do I look stupid enough to believe that horse dung, woman?"

"If you have to ask, yes." She replied shortly.

"I know you think I'm a fool if I have been falling for your underhanded tactics, but it ends here. You have two choices, Miss Beauregard, you can either work as an informative for me or you can cling vainly to your loyalties to those bloody krauts and be treated as such – become a POW."

"And if I choose neither?!" she challenged.

"Then you will be dealt with accordingly. I don't take well to traitors. I'm an American and we believe in loyalty to one side, and your tactics are befitting to that of a yellow-bellied chicken. Now woman, make your choice wisely." Captain Andreas replied with coldness that he hadn't known since his days as Seiryuu Seishi Nakago. He had drawn from the holster at his waist his pistol and had cocked it at the woman he loved. He didn't want to, but he didn't want to be played for a patsy. 

"You do have a point." Aimée replied coolly, as she closed her eyes, but then she opened them half way, malice dancing seductively in the grey mass of the orbs. "But what kind of man points a gun at an unarmed lady? A coward, so, really, you aren't much better than me."

The captain recoiled as though he had been slapped. Her tone had been so deceivingly level. Her gaze was chillingly cool. It seemed to more suitable to him that it did to her. Her words had been succinct, yet at the same time sharp and venomous.

"The more you continue to point that gun at me, the more it emphasises your cowardice. You are truly no better than a 'kraut', as they wielded their guns in such a way when they took by force the hospital in Dunkirk. They shot a defenceless girl because she looked at them."

He hesitated, contemplating if he should indeed lower his gun or if he should call her bluff and keep it up. He knew that he would put himself at risk, if she was indeed an agent for the enemy. He had feelings for her, he'd admit that, but his honour and duty conflicted with these feelings. He needed a solution that would suit his needs.

A nasty smirk crossed his lips. "Fine, if you want to play games, then you'll play by my rules or become a POW in the allied camps. You want to call my bluff? Then you'll be serving your time accordingly. However, should you decide to play along, I'll keep your secret, including the one as to who caused the deaths of four of my privates."

"Are you mad?" she scathingly seethed through clenched teeth, as she glared hatefully at him. "I will not play by your rules, nor will I become a POW. You're ill of mind if you think I'll play by your rules. I've had worse than your pistol pointed at my head throughout the duration of the war."

"Perhaps we are all a little mad. Who's to say none of us are right of mind? There is nothing in this world to say otherwise. War drives people to do deeds they wouldn't dare contemplate in peacetime." Captain Andreas purred, venom dripping from his voice. A thin smile caressed his lips. "Do you dare push me to my limits? Do you dare call my bluff now?"

"I still will. You never could hurt a girl or a woman. You only used mental and emotional manipulation to gain what you wanted. You had too much of a soft spot for that kind of deed." Aimée retorted, as she sat calmly, staring back at him, daring him with her eyes.

He smirked. "You are certainly wide-eyed and bushy-tailed with optimism, aren't you? So, you're going to call my bluff and state that because you're a girl and I'm a man that I won't hurt you? Who's the foolish one here? Not me…"

He skilfully twirled the pistol around his index finger, keeping his gaze trained firmly on Aimée, his icy blue eyes never leaving her as he decided on his next move. Tossing the pistol up, he caught in his left hand with unmatched grace and aimed it, firing. The first bullet sailed by her temple, grazing the skin. She let out a shrill yelp and fell to the floor, lying on her back, staring at him in shock.

Before neither said anything more, he fired again, catching her in the shoulder. He still held his position, but he now seemed to be shadowed as he loomed over her menacingly, a thin trail of smoke rising up from the calibre of the pistol, still being held steadily.

She stared aghast at him, unable to say anything. She was speechless; her throat dry in sheer shock. The fact that he had actually fired on her hurt more than the bullet that was lodged deeply in her right shoulder, having stopped short of shattering the bone. Her breathing was hard and raspy, her eyes filled with untamed wildness.

"_Vous... vous... je vous déteste_... "she breathed out heavily, her tenor contemptuous, her eyes filled with a fiery glint of hatred.

"And I love you too." Captain Andreas replied dryly as he gracefully replaced the pistol back in the holster at his waist. He took a step over to where she lay, staring up at him loathingly. He didn't remove his gaze from her. He then added in a low ominous voice. "You couldn't call my bluff, could you, Soi?"

Her eyes burned with tears of indignation as she brought a hand up to the wound in her shoulder. She didn't have anything else to say; all words escaped her, but her disposition was evident in her gaze.

"This ends here… You will now pick wisely or else…"

Her silence echoed.

"Then, game over, Soi."

A gun shot rang out…

~~~~

His crew had landed shortly after that of the volunteer force under the command of Brennan, Séamus and Jeremiah, the three rebels with a cause. He had wanted to join the boys; he felt there was honour in their motives. He had been discrete in his mutiny away from Captain Russell Stonewall and that American Captain. He didn't want to risk anything merely to serve righteous honour.

He also felt it would be betraying his dear friend and fellow veteran, General Dwight Marshall, especially since the man placed so much trust with Captain Stonewall. Lt. Faulkner couldn't do the same thing. He had placed blind trust in his leader during the Great War and watched too many of his friends go to a bloody death in the mud of No-Man's Land and die without being found and without a proper and honourable Catholic burial.

He didn't wish to underestimate his friend, but he felt that the sheer determination and faith that these boys had in their own men, who were only volunteers, fighting for what they believed in, was worth more than military power and victory. It had its own fraternal merits; it brought back memories of his years at the monastery. They were close and did what it took to ward off evil – in their case; it was the mythical satanic evil of the testament. For these boys, it was the evil that had pervaded every aspect of German life and had soaked up all of Europe into its web of disease. This evil needed more than the prayers and rituals of exorcism, it needed a dose of strategic plans and the raining hell of bullets and bombs.

At the moment he stood with Jeremiah, Brennan and Séamus, as the four were checking over the supplies list and the strategic positioning lists that they had on hand. Jeremiah was pointing out that there were some spots that would be risky for their forces to take up a position in because they'd be sitting ducks.

"Something else I found quite peculiar, except for the lack of Nazi presence, these two kids that are hiding out here around the town. I saw a boy, probably about thirteen or fourteen. He was attired in drab wear. He panicked when he saw me. I saw him to a girl that was maybe sixteen. He spoke a foreign language that wasn't even French; it sounded eastern." Jeremiah reported.

"Really? What else? You know, no da, they might be of Jewry and on the run from the Nazis." Lt. Faulkner replied after a moment of thoughtful contemplation. "It would seem right, especially if they are young and not locals.

"Do you remember where he went?" the lieutenant added after another pause. "I have a spell that may allow us to talk to them through a medium of sorts. I haven't cast it in a long time, but it might still work."

"But how do we approach them if they indeed fear us?" Séamus pointed out.

The other three gazed at each other quizzically, trying to think of an answer to that. Séamus did raise a good point. If the boy had been jostled by the presence of Jeremiah, how would he and his sister react to the group of four that would come for them? Would they welcome them, or would they seem them in the same light as they saw the Nazi-Germans?

"There is only one to know, we go and find them." Jeremiah declared, much to the astonishment of the other three, who never expected such a demonstration of authority from the young man, who normally kept to himself and only spoke up to defend himself.

They hadn't really noted, but they stood at the foot of a small hill, and at the top was the young man that had seen Jeremiah and freaked out. The kid said nothing as he turned to flee, however, much to his misfortune, he caught his foot on the root of the tree that was near him and his ankle twisted under him, causing him to cry out as he fell unceremoniously to the ground.

Turning his head, Lt. Faulkner squinted at the top, noticing a boy. He at first thought it was a local boy. He motioned for the others to follow him. They would see to the lad. After all, it seemed the boy had been injured. By what, he couldn't tell on mere hindsight.

Panicking as he watched the four men approached, Achan anxiously tried to free his foot, but only caused an electrical shock of pain to sear through the nerves. He knew he was trapped. He feared that these were Nazis disguised as allied soldiers. His eyes quivered in fear. He lay frozen, paralysed by the paranoia that consumed him.

Stuttering in Yiddish, he cried out, "Don't hurt me!"

Séamus arched an eyebrow at the lieutenant, who was casting a spell, while Brennan held the boy still and Jeremiah worked to free the boy's foot without causing any further injury.

Lowering his hand, Lt. Faulkner turned and knelt in front of the boy. He held out his hand to the lad, as he used the spell he had just cast to speak in the same tongue as the boy. "We won't hurt you. We're on your side. We're here to help you. I'm Lieutenant Marcus Faulkner. The one who is holding you down is Brennan Mackenzie, the one freeing your foot is Jeremiah Dallas and the one behind me is Séamus Kennedy, who is heading the small volunteer force that is here to drive the Nazis from Calais."

Achan wearily gazed around then pulled his leg back as Jeremiah freed him. He again gazed at the faces of the four men. He quickly realised that three of them were only a few years older than his sister. The oldest one, obviously in his late thirties, seemed familiar, and then it clicked. His eyes went wide in recognition. "Chi-Chichiri…"

"Da!" the lieutenant smiled warmly and flashed the "V" sign – the sign for victory.

"And you're…" he turned to Brennan.

"Tasuki; the one n' only!" Brennan declared happily.

The twins looked at one another, feeling lost here. Obviously this was a Seishi that neither one of them had ever met. It must be one of the Genbu or Byakko Seishi…

Achan held out his hand and accepted Lt. Faulkner's. "You obviously remember me, I'm Tomite. Now I'm better known as Achan Stern."

"Where are you from?" Lt. Faulkner queried. "Is there anything that would help us in the fight against the Nazis? Anything you know will be helpful in bringing those who committed crimes to face justice."

"Vienna, Austria. I lived there with my parents. My father was drafted by the Austrian government for forced labour and the rest of us were shipped off to Krakow, where my mother worked for Herr Oscar Schindler. She was one of those listed because one of her brothers worked for Herr Schindler. We would have been free but the SS stormed our house. The leader of the small band was Agent Albrecht Keplar, who is better remembered as Hikitsu. I don't remember the other's name, my sister Arielle does. Anyway, they murdered my mother in her sleep, and they thought they killed Arielle and me, but we narrowly escaped because she used an illusion to allow us to slip out into the night."

The four could only listen in horror. Somehow this only seemed to be the surface of the truth. Just this alone had sent chills of terror through their spines. They didn't dare contemplate the horrors that could have been seen and experienced. Even Lt. Faulkner, who had seen the horrors of the Great War couldn't possible phantom what the youths had seen.

A young girl, who Achan recognised immediately as his sister Arielle, ran over quickly to protect her brother. She knelt next to him and gazed at the four men with distrust and in Austrian-German asked, "what do you want?" Her words are glazed with a Yiddish accent.

"We're here to free France and Europe from the Nazis. We're part of a much larger invasion force consisting of the English, the Scots, Irish, Canadians, Americans, French, Australians and others. We're from Ireland and we came to secure Calais." Jeremiah explained. "You're safe now."

The two didn't appear to trust the four men, but they found comfort in their words. There was sincerity in the words spoken. The simple guerrilla militia wear the three young men wore and the British Armed Forces badges on the jacket of Lt. Faulkner's jacket brought some security.

Arielle was the first to speak after a moment of silence. "Can we trust you?"

"We can't say if you will, we can't say no. We won't make any promises, but we can try and keep you safe until back ups arrive and secure the outpost. For now, we can house you up in an abandon factory or home until further developments." Séamus suggested, as he held out his hand to help up the young lady, while Brennan and Jeremiah hoisted Achan up, making sure he didn't put any weight on the twisted ankle.

"We have medical supplies. Our medic will set that ankle, and help you two get cleaned up. There may also be a river nearby where you can clean up. I think we may also have extra clothing we may be able to spare." Lt. Faulkner explained, as his gazed moved quickly over the brother and sister. "We have a couple of extra men who will be able to watch over you two, as well as any other civilians we come across. We can also equip you with small arms, so you may defend yourselves."

This appeased the siblings, whose eyes and faces glowed with gratitude. Finally…someone who would help them. Four people who would go out of their way to help them…

****

Author's Notes: I bet no one saw this coming. I felt I should do something to redeem poor Captain Andreas. As for the second group, I didn't think it was nice to leave the poor siblings stranded, so I decided to give them some help. After all, it did happen during the war, there was some hope for the Jewry when the allied forces came onto the main land. ^_^


	36. Flashback 1912 to 1914

**Plura**** Ater Nox  
Chapter 34**  
  
**Author's Notes**: Okay, the next couple of chapters or so are flashback chapters and they focus solely on Marcus and Dwight. I thought I should do a character history, and since they were my oldest ones, that they deserved such an honour, plus, I believe I owed my readers an explanation as to why Marcus joins the rebels. These chapters will explain that. ^_^ I hope you all enjoy it.  
  
**1912** – _Dublin_ [Flashback]  
  
"Top of the morning to you, good lad!" A simply dressed man called out to a young man, no more than fourteen years old, who ran by in a blur of dust. The man was dressed in beige britches, held up by smart black suspenders. He wore a white shirt under with a vest over top. His bright red hair comb back smartly, his green eyes twinkling in the early light of dawn.  
  
Turning to the man, a young Marcus Faulkner smiled bright and pushed long annoying bangs out of his eyes. "Good morrow, sir! Is Ike done his morning tasks? We're going to the docks to see the Titanic! She's coming for the good folk lucky enough to see the land of the free!"  
  
Grinning at the bright enthusiasm of Dwight's friend, Fionn Marshall chuckled. "I'm sure his Ma can spare him for a few hours as you lads go get a glimpse of what Irish sweat and toil built. Her picture was all over the press. They talk of her beauty and they say she's advanced for her time."  
  
"I heard that as well, sir." Marcus replied. His gaze shifted to the metal box that the father of Dwight carried. "Off to the plant for another hard day of labour under the cruel watch of those nasty Bible-pushing Protestants, who are damned to hell?"  
  
"Watch your tongue boy." Fionn replied sternly, as he stared at the boy. "They don't like our kind very much. We are lucky to be able to freely worship as Catholics as God wanted. Do watch your tongue; you don't want of those awful bloody Brits catching a slip."  
  
"Indubitably, sir!" Marcus replied with a firm nod. "I'll do my utmost to keep skid chains on my tongue. I don't want those bloody Brits whipping my hide clean off my arse; Mama does a fine job of that when she gets a bee in her bonnet."   
  
"Good lad, you should find Ike back." Fionn explained, as he pointed a thick finger to the alley that led to the back of the long narrow row of houses. "But don't stay too long, you do have school, Marcus, and your teacher will be greatly displeased if you stay at the docks too long and the truancy officer will surely go looking for you."  
  
"I am bearing that in mind. I already got permission from Mama. She is going to be there because her younger sister is lucky enough to get a ticket to board the maiden." Marcus replied happily. "Aunt Treasa promised to write to Mama once she got there."  
  
"Ah, good for her. She deserves it. May God bless her and her husband. Pass on our blessings. Tell Treasa we wish her well in the new land." Fionn and his wife were friends with Marcus's mother and Aunt Treasa, and had grown up with each other.  
  
"I will do, sir." Marcus assured the other man smartly, with a sincere smile.  
  
Nodding, Fionn turned and began to walk away. He glanced back over his shoulder. "Cheers good lad."  
  
"Godspeed sir and God bless you!"  
Once Fionn Marshall was out of sight, Marcus sighed softly and turned to the alley. He knew this area all to well; he had spent many-a-day here with his good friend Dwight Marshall, who spoke of his dream to join the ranks of the Irish Division of the Royal Army, while he spoke of fighting for the good of the Vatican and the faith the Protestants and English tried to crush. He spoke of one day fighting the evil that pervaded every corner of their lives; he spoke of a desire to live in a free land that was sovereign and was ruled under the will of the Irish. A free land like America.  
  
He cast a gaze over to toward the house that his friend lived in with his two older brothers and four younger sisters. The houses were easily two or three floors. They were stacks on one another – flats. They were where a lot of Catholics lived if they couldn't afford a normal house. It was for low-income families, located in the heart of the downtown core of Dublin.  
  
Long clothes lines hung across the cobblestone path and horseless carriages sat on the street. Young children ran between them, laughing freely, as they chased their friends and siblings. It was evident that a lot of these children came from impoverished families, but one wouldn't think so when they looked at the happiness and youth that radiated from the youngsters.  
  
Darting down the alley, Marcus grabbed a handful of pebbles and heaved them at the second story window, which he knew was the kitchen. When he saw a person appear, he dropped the remainder from his hand and waited for the person to stick their head out.  
  
The woman looked quite displeased until she laid eyes on Marcus. "Good morrow, Marcus, how fares your mother? I hear your Aunt Treasa is headin' for a better life in America!" She glanced back over her shoulder then back out the window. "Dwight shall be down shortly, he's just gathering his things. I trust you boys won't play hooky for too long, you do have final examinations for your first year at the secondary education institute."  
  
"Yes, ma'am, we'll to our utmost to stay only shortly. We shan't neglect our studies!" Marcus called up to the lady of the house. "We're just going to see the Titanic and give our blessings to Aunt Treasa and her husband."  
  
"Mark! Good to see you! Ready to scout out the docks?" Dwight called as he jumped over the railing half-way between the first and second floor. He landed soundlessly on the ground with elegant grace, only disrupting the dust.  
  
"Most certainly, mate." He winked and whispered, "all the skirts will be there and not too many of them fussy old spinsters and biddies. Hopefully we'll see some ankle."  
  
"Good Ike, we'll see many ankles a-plenty. Remember when Aíne O'Malley was sent home for her wickedly high hemline? She got a good forty less one lashes for it, but us boys had a most excellent look-see. Miss Flanagan wasn't very happy." Dwight smirked, enjoying a good chuckle. "Miss Flanagan wouldn't hear out Aíne's side, but we good lads knew her family was too poor to clothe a willow like her."  
  
"We were naughty, I thought Miss Flanagan would surely send home notes to our Mamas telling 'em how we were sinful lads. By luck, she didn't and I knar missed getting my backside skinned. Mama was in a terrible mood that day." Marcus replied mirthlessly, as he recalled that day.  
  
Soon the two boys were out of the sight of Dwight's home, when Marcus turned to his friend, oh, what mischief danced in his youthful eyes. "Say good friend, let's say we fool the truancy wanker and go for a good swill of whiskey at the docks at Dun Laoghaire?"  
  
"My mama would strip the skin off my hide! Goodness knows it's in her, even father fears her! She's birthed twelve of us and only stopped to give the birthing! Toughest woman on God's green earth! Even the Good Lord Himself would fear her when she got to Heaven. She's a pious lady with a backhand that men tremble at." Dwight shuddered, remembering the numerous events when he felt his mother's wrath.  
  
"Aye, good lad, she surely isn't so terrible!" Marcus winked. "My mama once gave me forty less one lashes and I couldn't sit for a good week! I thought she broke that switch her lashes were so harsh!"  
  
"If your mamas heard ya speakin' so ill o' 'em, they'd whip ya into nex' year!" came the familiar drawl; a voice they knew all too well. It belonged to none other than Aíne O'Malley. Her dresses never quite fit her. The bodice was tight and placed emphasise on her ample bosom, the waist was tight and the hemline came dangerously high, a good inch or two over the ankles. She was the eldest child in her family. She had seven younger siblings and another one on the way. Her parents were dreadfully poor – the poorest in the neighbourhood.  
  
"And a good morrow to you too, good lass." Marcus smirked. He sauntered over and placed an arm around Aíne's shoulders. "Did Miss Flanagan die?"  
  
"Git off me!" she snarled as she pushed Marcus's arm off her. "Nay, she didn't. She's at 'em docks at Dun Laoghaire. Her sister's goin' to 'Merica, y'known, so she's seein' 'er off with blessin's and such."  
  
Undeterred by Aíne's rejection, Marcus tried again. "Yeah, it seems America is very popular these days, especially amongst the Irish." He leisurely took her hand. "Have I mentioned just how lovely you look today?" He winked.  
  
"Yer word nay shall win me." Aíne haughtily retorted as she pulled her hand from his. She did have to admit to herself she was attracted to him, even if he was a boorish male with an insufferable ego. He did have a certain charisma to him, and he was known for his loyalty to his friends.  
  
"You're bloody stubborn, but I'll win you yet." Marcus whispered, pulling her close. "You know exactly how I feel and there is no escaping it, and when the day comes, I'll go before your father and ask him for your hand in marriage. I don't care if I have to bribe him, I'll have my way and I'll get you."  
  
"Be weary of the stars, my friend. They carry a curse of the past, and it could follow you and rain dread unto your luck." Dwight murmured more to himself than anyone else. He, like Marcus, knew of a life from long ago, where they had not only been friends, but chosen ones; celestial warriors who destiny was to protect a girl, who would appear in their world, summon their god and set everything right again.  
  
He recalled the tragic love story of his friend. In the past where they had lived, Marcus had been caught in an unfortunate situation. There was a girl he loved dearly, and she reciprocated that love, but there was another man, his best friend, who also longed for the girl. The story had ended in heart break for Marcus, who at the time was better known as Chichiri, who in blind rage went after his friend, and in the fray, in the midst of a raging storm, his friend had lost his footing on the edge of the bank and slipped into the raging river. His hand had been grabbed by Chichiri, but the hand slipped from Chichiri's grasp when a wild log came barrelling at them, catching Chichiri in the eye and blinding him. He had let got of his friend's hand…  
  
The girl and his friend had died, along with many others in that flood. Chichiri wrought with grief, had become a wandering monk with a scar on his face. He eventually covered up with a mask and hid his true feelings from his friends…  
  
Dwight, who had been known as Mitsukake at the time, had a common understanding of his friend's grief and loss. He had even tried to heal the scar, but the offer had been declined. He said nothing more. But now, he had learned from his mistakes, and didn't want to see his friend wind up down the same tragic route again.  
  
"Ya betta give it up, 'cause Papa will ne'er 'gree." Aíne retorted, winking at Marcus. This had become a ritualistic thing. He flirted; she discouraged him, yet at the same time used subtle willies to seduce him. She did love him, probably more than he loved her.  
  
Marcus leaned against the lamppost. "Surely you'll convince him. Being the oldest child carries some weight, doesn't it? Besides, wouldn't he like for you to end up with a decent man?" He winked.  
  
"Then I guess ya ain't got no chance, eh?!" Aíne smirked, tweaking Marcus's nose.  
  
Dwight rolled his eyes. He knew he should be used to this by now. Marcus and Aíne were always flirting like this. He half-expected to wake up morning to Marcus hurling pebbles at his bedroom window declaring that he had got an eloped with the girl overnight. It wouldn't really surprise Dwight if his friend did that. His friend was extremely impulsive.  
  
"Hey, Mark if we's going to the docks, shouldn't we get on a moving instead of staying here while you act all moony-eyed?" Dwight remarked, lightly punching his friend in the shoulder. "And how're going to hit the pub if we's got a girl on our backs? They're terrible nags."  
  
"Watch yer tongue 'ere, Ike, we ain't all bad." Aíne replied, poking him in the shoulder. "But I'll get movin' on, n' I'll leave ya lads to do 'lad' things. Just no getting' into no shit with 'em bloody Brits, now Mark."  
  
"All right, we'll behave, and you'll wait up for me. I'll coming by your humble abode later today to get permission from your father to court you." Marcus took Aíne's hand in his, kissing the top of it. "So, be prepared for a good time.   
  
Once she left, Dwight turned to Marcus. "Got a tupence on you? I only have a hay-penny."  
  
"What do you need a tupence for?" he asked, reaching into his back pocket. "It's only a penny to ride the street car."  
  
"That way you'd still have your fare."  
  
"Here, I have a hay-penny." Marcus reached into his pocket and fished around until he found it. Taking it out, he handed it to his friend.  
  
Graciously accepting, Dwight thanked his friend as they walked to the nearly street car stop point.  
  
When they got to the docks, they would be immersed in a crowd of unimaginable size; people celebrating the maiden voyage of Ireland's gem. It would be hard to imagine that this magnificent beauty would be taken down in the Atlantic Ocean mere days later. The news, when it would come, was extremely shocking. No one had considered this possibility. The Titanic seemed immune to everything, well, except of course for ice bergs which were floating dangerously around the North Atlantic.  
  
The families who had seen loved one off on the voyage were on edge, waiting in anticipation for any news; good or bad. They just needed to know what happened to their loved ones. This included Marcus and his parents. His grown siblings had all moved to America two years ago at least, so he was the only one left at home; the youngest of nine, and the only boy.  
  
"Ma, have they said anything on Aunt Treasa?" Marcus asked softly, as he assisted in mother in cleaning up the kitchen. His father had already left for work. They were the only ones left in the house and it was a Friday morning. He had already written his final exams, so he was just helping out around the house before he would start his summer job the following week.  
  
"I haven't heard a thing from them bloody Brits." Mrs. Faulkner replied bitterly as she shoved a plate to her son. "And they already know, and most of their own kind lived because those bastards got upper class tickets. Rumour mill says that the poor, who were in the belly of the Titanic, were trapped because no one left 'em out until the last moment."  
  
"That doesn't surprise me. But I hope God spared Aunt Treasa and at least reduced any suffering she may have faced. I hope that he help her out in her moment of need and lifted her from that floating casket." Marcus replied softly, crossing himself as he thought of his beloved aunt.  
  
Aunt Treasa was the youngest of his mother's siblings, barely twenty years old; half as old as his mother. His mother had a total of about twelve siblings, two of which died before reaching five years old because of tuberculosis and cholera. There was a third that would have died, but by a miracle survived, but was crippled by Polio.  
  
"I know, I know, but she had a lower class ticket, which was very, very dear in price. She paid nearly three pounds for the ticket! I told her to spend more, but she said that daddy gave her enough to buy a ticket and start a new life in Canada. She told me that she would need the money to pay for housing until she expects to find a nice young man to marry and settle down with."  
  
"Why didn't she stay here then?"  
  
"Daddy, who's very weak for her since she's his youngest daughter, gave in to her wishes to go over seas and start a life free of English oppression. She said she wanted to live where there was no famine."  
  
Nodding silently, Marcus continued to dry the dishes without another word.  
  
  
**1914** – _Western Front_  
  
Gun fire ran out around them, the pungent odours of dead rotting corpses wafted through the air into the depths of the trenches from when the men knew as "no man's land". Exploding grenades rocked the earth and brilliant flashes of fire could be seen over the parapet of the ten foot deep trenches that stretched for miles east and west, and into infinity…  
  
On a pair of crates sat a pair of sixteen year old friends, each smoking a cigarette, as their Lee-Enfield rifles sat on the ground next to them, preloaded and ready to fire on command. They hadn't been called to duty yet by the captain of their regiment, The Royal Dublin Fusiliers of the 16th Irish Division, so they enjoyed their break while it lasted, under the resonated ringing of gun fire and explosions that rang through the French countryside.  
  
The two young men wore dust-laden military issued uniforms, which had been issued to them at the start of the war. They had enlisted together. Dwight Marshall, deciding to pursue his dream of joining the armed forces, took the chance to enlist, while Marcus Faulkner, not wanting to see his friend go off to die in a foreign country, enlisted as well so that his friend wouldn't have to go off and die alone.  
  
Together, they sat in quiet contemplation, as the snow began to fall around them, watching each other. They had grown up in the heart of Dublin together and couldn't picture doing something without the other near for help or just for a good laugh. They had insisted on being placed in the same regiment, so they could fight side by side again.  
  
"Hi fellows, got a spare cigarette I could have?" A soft-spoken sergeant, about six years old than them inquired, as he sat down on the crate that Marcus was seated upon. He held out his hand. "Sergeant William Delaney, of the Royal Armed Force of the Dominion of Canada, part of the Canadian Expeditionary Force." He placed his Ross Rifle by his side, as Marcus handed him a cigarette.  
  
"Well, I'm Private Marcus Faulkner and this is my friend, Private Dwight Marshall. We're from Dublin and part of the Royal Dublin Fusiliers of the 16th Irish Division." Marcus replied, as he dropped the butt of his cigarette onto the ground and put out the smouldering ashes with the toe of his shoe.  
  
"Ah, good lads you are. So, whose name and honour are you fighting for? Got a special lady waiting back at home, pining away while you bravely fight here?" Sergeant Delaney asked, as he lit up the cigarette Marcus had handed him.  
  
"Poor Ike doesn't, I, however, do. Lovely little wench by the name of Aíne O'Malley…"  
  
"Aw, damnit, did you have to go and ask that? Now he's going to be all moony-eyed." Dwight whined, as he interrupted Marcus's reply.  
  
"You love her, eh?" the sergeant asked, winking at the young man.  
  
"Yes sir! I love her, sir. I'm going to ask for her hand in marriage when I return." Marcus eagerly replied; his eyes lit up with glee as he thought of the girl whom he loved dearly.  
  
"Do you carry a picture of the lass close to your heart?"  
  
"Of course, sir. I refused to leave home until she gave it to me."  
  
"Would you care to share?"  
  
Pulling the picture wallet from the inner pocket of his jacket, Marcus handed it over to the superior officer. "She's a diamond in the rough, but I love her."  
  
"She's very nice looking, she has a pretty face, seems motherly, the kind of woman you'd want for your children." The sergeant replied as he studied the black and white photograph before he handed it back to Marcus. "I have a wife and child back home in Canada. She isn't as beautiful as your catch, but she is still good looking." He pulled out the photo and handed it to Marcus, who gasped out in surprise.  
  
"Aunt Treasa! You married Aunt Treasa!"  
  
"Well, ain't it a small world. I guess it means you're my nephew. Well, though these aren't the pleasantest of circumstances, it's nice to be able to meet you."  
  
**TBC**...


	37. The Promise

Plura Ater Nox **1944** – London  
  
"I can't believe those bloody Nazis; they've blown most of London up!" Chelsea exclaimed incredulously as she and General Dwight Marshall walked down the debris littered stretch of street known to the Londoners as White Hall St.. She kicked some stray debris with the toe of her shoe, as they walked down toward the underground offices.  
  
On the surface, she seemed very calm and collected, but inside she was a bustling market of emotions. On the one hand, she was worried about all those men, who were still practically boys; over in a strange new land fighting some faceless demon and not knowing if they would live to see their children and grandchildren. The uncertainty of war and the future.  
  
Kicking some debris, she growled. "They are such bloody wankers, who deserve a good swift kick in the bullocks, and a good arse whippin' from mama. They killed my brothers!"  
  
General Marshall walked next to her in silence, his mind elsewhere as he thought of Marcus, who had approached him early before the group had split up to embark on the small-scale invasion as part of the grander scheme of things. He closed his eyes briefly then opened them as he gave a vague nod to Chelsea's ranting, to which he was half-heartedly paying attention.  
  
He gracefully swept his overcoat around him, securing it as a gust of wind rushed through, stirring the dust that coated the street. He didn't look behind him as the wind whipped around, as he felt the dust hit him. He ignored it and walked straight with purpose. He kept a hand in Chelsea's back to ensure her safety. He kept her in front of him as he walked so that he could protect her in the event that the air raid siren would sound.  
  
"Aren't you going to say anything? Or are you going to stun us yet again with your awe-inspiring silence?!" Chelsea drawled sarcastically, as she turned her face to her boss, a slight smile caressing her lips as she gazed back. Her russet hair, which was once neatly tied into a smart bun, was now amok with fly-away, as her bangs became intrusive.  
  
"Really, that was uncalled for, Chelsea." General Marshall replied shortly, as he regarded her serenely. His gaze only rested on her briefly before it again returned to its scrutiny of the area as they promenaded down the boulevard.   
  
"But you almost never humour me with a reply." She replied with utmost indignation, to which she received no reply except the deafening ring of the air raid siren.  
  
Shrieking in fear, she covered her ears and cowered in a ball on the ground, fearing for her life. The kanji that had once been present on her left foot now vanished and was but a memory. She was strong when fear didn't set in; the kanji was a symbol of her strength and intelligence. Without she was reduced to but a simple state that was common among all humans.  
  
"Chelsea! Chelsea! Stand up!" General Marshall exclaimed, panicking as he reached to try and grab her wrist and get them both to safety as hordes of fearful English fled to the nearest shelters, including the nearest Underground, which also now doubled as a bomb shelter. "Chelsea, remember yourself; don't lose your head! Get up!"  
  
"Oh God….oh God… I'm going to die! Please god, save me!" Chelsea cried, her form trembling; fear consuming her whole being. Her mind wallowed in the fray of panic, as English men and women ran by, their screams of terror echoing; the very core of their existence threatened by the distant yet real sound of German bombers rapidly approaching from the English Channel.  
  
Reaching down, General Marshall frantically searched for her wrist to grab and hoist her to her feet so they could get to the nearest shelter and take cover from the raid on the town. He had a hard time gripping it. It was mainly due to the position of her form as she cowered on the ground, crying out her cries for forgiveness as she said prayers in Latin, trying to seek salvation, for she feared death.  
  
Terror was setting in as the roar of jets drew close. His fearful gaze was turned to the sky, as he saw for the first time the sight of an endless cloud of German bomber jets as their deafening roar dulled the siren's pitiful cry.  
  
A gasp escaped him. Those weren't planes, those were…  
  
"Oh shit!"  
  
The first hit, causing what felt like an earthquake.  
  
Think quickly, General Marshall threw himself protectively over Chelsea as a missile soared overhead, crashing into a building a mere four blocks away. The earth violently shook as glass, stone and other shrapnel and debris flew into the air littering the surrounding area.  
  
He winced as he felt glass fall on him. It had to land on the bare nape of his neck as he remained cowered over Chelsea, attempting to protect the hysterical girl. He didn't let out any cry, for it would be a weakness if he did. He had to be strong and hold it in.  
  
He felt sweat coursing his face; the salty liquid stinging his eyes as he struggled to hang on long enough to sense if it was safe to stand up and again attempt to guide Chelsea to safety. The liquid dripped off the contours of his jaw, as he held her under his strong frame, his arms embracing her against his body, as he recalled the last dialogue he had with Marcus just before the group broke up.  
  
-- **Flashback** --  
  
"Ike, Chelsea spoke to me earlier. She's been star gazing again." Marcus remarked with a wry grin. He added, "And she quoted to me that she foresaw doom in the stars for many of us, for the stars were moving in an unfavourable, or an unlucky way."  
  
He sat on the edge of the desk, as General Marshall moved around. "That doesn't surprise me in the least. In fact, it wouldn't surprise me if the group broke up. Russell and JC are the precise antithesis to the other; Jeremiah doesn't have his priorities straight; Séamus and Brennan will likely get themselves killed and we'll get many deaths because of this."  
  
The general sighed running his fingers through his cru-cut.  
  
"Don't think of blaming yourself, Ike. You were only thinking of a possible and quick end to this never-ending war waged by the Nazis. You witnessed too many deaths close to home when they dropped bombs on Béal Feirste."  
  
"It's the same as if they dropped it on Baile Átha Cliath; it's all really the same in the end; it's all part of Eire."  
  
"I know, but what is important at this point is taking the fire to their home and putting them under siege."  
  
"If we can drive them back there first. It'll be futile if we fight them on soil that is not their own, for they feel the pain as if it were their own."  
  
"Mitsukake, did you ever imagine that we would spend this life fighting as well after the hurt and tragedy of the last life?" Marcus asked softly. "Did you think we would be lucky this time around and not have to witness the death of our friends again?"  
  
"Oh, so many times have I wondered why we have to live a life that is so redundant the last, Chichiri. I have asked myself why we must ensure this tragic existence all over again. What sins did we carry over from the last that Suzaku did not forgive us for? We were not sorry for out actions? Did we not feel the pain and sorrow of loss? The guilt?"  
  
"Yes we did. In many ways we did." Marcus replied quietly, as he moved to stand next to his friend. "But now our fate lies in the hands of another god, a god that is so unlike Suzaku, a god who defines what is good and not and punishes the sinners. We can't blame Suzaku for the last life, nor can we blame God for this life. What has happened in the world, like the wars, is outside of our reach. The only thing we can do is protect those that are close to us."  
  
"Protect the generation which will be fathering and mothering the next generation so they can live in a better world tomorrow." General Marshall said, as he gazed out the window into the endless velvet night sky littered with bright stars.  
  
"So, I'll accompany the twins and Tasuki with their crew. Hotohori and Nakago can certainly defend their backs easily. The younger ones will likely put themselves into too much danger if without guidance, no da." Marcus declared.  
  
A knowing smile caressed the general's lips. "Is it because Brennan and Séamus remind you of a certain someone?" His eyes twinkled with knowledge, which was reflected in Marcus's very nod, as he made his ascended reply.  
  
"Yes, of myself. Both are out there fighting an enemy greater than themselves; the English and now the Germans because the Nazis dared to bomb their own very allies."  
  
"Although it was slightly different for you, was it not?"  
  
***FLASHBACK – 1916**: The Verdun*  
  
It was the first of July of the year of 1916. The war had been going on for a good two years now and the mentality had set in that this was a stalemate and wasn't about to change any time soon. All the men who had not yet been killed had realised, as they listened to their commanding officers. Their lives were in grave danger; they were about to enter 'no man's land', from which few returned.   
  
It was that long stretch of land between allied trenches and enemy trenches. Bodies of unknown soldiers lay strewn amongst the ruin; the barbed wire, empty shell cases, abandoned foxholes, stray rifles. From the area rose a pungent stench of death; it pervaded every aspect of their lives, as they spent long days in the trenches fretting about the future.  
  
In the distance rant out the constant dull roar of artillery fire from German forces and the detonation of strategically planted land mines; this, was the downfall of unsuspecting men of the allied forces, as they were sent to an uncertain fate. The bright flashes were noticeable from even a sitting position within the trenches.  
  
They knew the Germans were attempting to break through French lines, so some members of the 16th division, as well as Canadian volunteers were sent to act as back-up.  
  
The first and second waves of men had been sent over, while the third wait. In the third line were Marcus, Dwight and Sergeant William Delaney. They stood against the wall, waiting for the command to go over the top and attempt to make gains for the allied forces.  
  
"Lousy bloody Brits; buncha muderin' wankers; no better than the Germans!" Marcus groused, as he hefted his gun by his side.  
  
"Then why did you enlist?" Dwight remarked.  
  
"Because I don't want to see my best friend, leave for some alien country and have to die there because the Brits are a bunch of bloody sadists." Marcus replied with a warm smile. "I'm not going to let you die alone out there in 'no man's land'; I'm going to be with you for the whole war. You shouldn't have to die alone."  
  
"NOW! Go!"  
  
Sergeant Delaney was the first of the three to go over the top at full speed. "This is for Treasa!" he declared loudly, as he kept his sights ahead. He vanished from sight quickly.  
  
He was followed by others, including Dwight and Marcus, who quickly forgot their conversation and joined the other men making the journey into 'no man's land'. They moved over the top quickly, more fortunate than others, as they were gunned down immediately as they crossed the barrier between safety and danger. Others were not as lucky and lost their life before they had barely set foot onto the soil between the long stretches of the trenches.  
  
The friends ventured deeply out, however, Sergeant Delaney, wasn't so lucky, and lay in a puddle of his own blood. He stared up at the unforgiving morning sky, which was dull with a grey overcast. His eyes were fixated on it as he tried to breathe steadily and wait for help. He knew he was fooling himself; no one would find him. He'd die among the thousand of faceless soldiers.  
  
The hot lead of the bullet that penetrated his stomach and chest had knocked him down, leaving him among the other bodies that littered the long stretch of land. He was now moments away from becoming another one of these dead bodies that would be forgotten. He would just be another name on the long list of soldiers who lost their life in battle and all in the name of the king.  
  
His hand covered up the wound, his eye-sight blurring into a blissfully hazy cloud, as his life slipped from the grasp. A bright white light appeared before him. Was that the entrance to heaven before him?  
  
His last brief thoughts were of Treasa….  
  
Crying out as the bullet penetrated his chest, Dwight fell to his knees; his hand covered up the chest-wound. Instinctively, he cowered on the ground, plotting his gradual return to the trench so that he wouldn't die out here with the other men who had been unfortunate enough to have been so brutally gunned down that they were immobilised.  
  
"Ike?" Marcus looked back over his shoulder. "IKE!" he exclaimed fearfully as he ran back to his friend's side, heedless of the fact that he could get killed by doing this. His only concern was taking his friend to safety.  
  
Their trench was so far; the only closest safe hide-away was a foxhole caused by stray mortar fire. This was noted by Marcus, as he picked up his friend and moved quickly to the fox hole, weaving around the mines, which were planted in such obvious places. He narrowly missed stepping one, as he jumped into the hole.  
  
Once in, he placed his friend down.  
  
"Ike, Ike talk to me!"  
  
"_Seadh_, Mark?"  
  
"_Buíochas, Dia_…" Marcus breathed a sigh a relief. He smiled serenely at his friend. "You'll be ok. I got you out of the line of fire. We'll go back to the trench when German fire lets up long enough for us to skulk back into our camp."  
  
Sighing happily, Dwight returned the smile. "Thanks, my friend."  
  
Blinking, Marcus acted quickly and pulled friend down, as he sensed the dull rumble of a German tank. He put himself protectively over his friend, as they cowered in the safety of the hole, knowing that the Germans wouldn't find them there, unless they were on foot.  
  
The tank violently shook the ground as it rumbled over the muddy terrain. The trembles it caused alone were mild compared to the earthquake-like affects of the land-mine as it rolled over it. The walls of the foxhole convulsed ferociously. The dirt broke off in large chunks and fell on Marcus's back, as debris and shrapnel from the tank also rained down on them.  
  
Pained he let out a cry of anguish as a piece of metal shrapnel penetrated his back, the sharp jagged edge ripping through his skin. He didn't dare move, for it hurt even to think about it. His eyes were shut tightly, as he tried to think of something else; something that would ease the pain of his suffering.  
  
"Mark?" Dwight asked, as he gazed at his friend. "Are you ok? Mark, answer me, MARK!!"  
  
The only sound that resonated from him was a dull moan of anguish, as sweat poured down his face. The affects of the injury were written all over his face as it was scrunched into a pained scowl.  
  
"Enemy fire has briefly ceased, we should go back now! Now before it's too late!" He declared, standing up, his hand covering his wound. He held out the other to Marcus. "Move it! I'm not letting my best friend die out here!"  
  
"Ike… I can't! It hurts too much!" Marcus groaned, as he tried to sit up.  
  
"Cock and bull, wanker! Stand the bloody hell up before the Germans find us and make us POWs!" Dwight exclaimed as he grabbed his friend and hoisted his to his feet.  
  
The pain caused by the shrapnel deeply imbedded in his back was too much and his legs crumpled under him. However, as he fell, his left twisted awkwardly, as the sound of cracking bones could be distinctly heard at least once.  
  
Panicking, Dwight knelt next to his friend. "Mark, how bad is it? Can you move?"  
  
"No, you bloody bastard! My leg is broke in two spots and I can't stand on it no more!" Marcus seethed scathingly.  
  
Thinking quickly and forgetting his own wound, Dwight picked up the bulk that was the weight of Marcus and hauled him from the foxhole and ran back to the trench that was their own. He jumped down gracefully and landed, notably out of breathe as two medics ran over to take care of them, as well others who made it back, though not in the best of health…  
  
**1916**: The Somme – the Letter  
  
He stood, alone. He no longer had his friend by his side. He had returned to the battlefield alone. His wounds had been minor. His friend had been transported back to Dublin because of the severity of his injury. The two friends hadn't seen each other in months, and only on this day had Dwight received a letter from his friend. The letter came to him following a revolt by the Catholics in Dublin against the English monarchy/regime.  
  
It had been dubbed the "Easter Rising". The English guard hadn't been impressed with the insubordination on the part of the Irish Catholics, who dared to usurp their English rulers. Many of the men and women who had participated had been arrested or shot on sight. This rebellion wasn't tolerated in the least.  
  
Dwight had received a hint of this before it happened. He knew from the letters he received from Marcus that stated this several times. On two occasions, he had been given notice that his friend was considering joining the uprising. As it stood, because of his heroic service during the Battle of Verdun, Marcus had been awarded for his bravery, as had Dwight, but, he knew that if Marcus dared to go through with it, Marcus would stand to be stripped of his medals and title.  
  
Sighing, Dwight took out the unopened envelope and carefully ripped it open.  
  
A morose sigh escaped him. His friend had gone through with it.  
  
_Ike,  
I've joined with the Catholic force of Sinn Fein in the hopes of driving the English from our homeland. If I cannot be of service on the front, then I will be at home and I will fight here for a better tomorrow. We have found a weakness in the English and we will use it to our advantage.  
  
However, I'm sad to report that our rebellion has been quashed by English forces and many of our kin have been arrested or killed. I was however, fortunate enough to have escaped such a fate. I have found sanctuary in the countryside of Wicklow. I have joined the monastery there and I will hide there until the fog has cleared.  
  
Don't worry about me, I shall be fine. They won't think to look for me here. When it is safe, I shall again come out of hiding and fight for our country's future free of English oppression.  
  
There is a small force, the Irish Republican Army, that has been formed, since the English have outlawed Sinn Fein, and there is a group of such here and we will fight for our lands and freedom from within the walls of the Lord's Sanctuary.  
  
God bless you, my friend.  
Brother Marcus Faulkner_  
  
'You fool…' Dwight thought, as he folded the letter up. 'You have done so much and you're willing to throw it away for a futile effort? You're a real man; none like the cowards on the German front…'  
  
With that, he hoisted his rifle and again ventured over the top, this time with more men, as they charged the German trenches in the early hours of dawn.  
  
-- _End Flashback_ --  
  
The air was dead silent with the dull persistent ring of the air raid siren, as General Marshall looked up, gazing around, as he decided that it was safe enough for them to try and seek shelter before the next attack. He knew they wouldn't have much time. Taking Chelsea by the wrist, he pulled her along despite her resistant cries as she tried to stand her ground and stay in a foetal position; in a ball.  
  
Running quickly, he tried to make her keep up with him, but it was hard. She may be small, but she could use her weight smartly. He was left with no choice but to take her and carry her, at the risk of being kicked and punched. True her firsts and feet were tiny, but it would still hurt.  
  
Before he could lift her, her foot caught on stray debris and she tripped, falling to the ground with a shrill cry. She landed on her front. Pushing herself up, she winced, a soft whimper escaping her as she gazed at the twisted mass under her left leg. "Ow…"  
  
"Chelsea!" General Marshall moved to her side quickly. He knelt, his eyes moving over her body, landing on her injury. He lift his hand, preparing to use his usually suppressed healing ability to restore the ankle to health, but pulled his hand back and covered her body with his again and in right time too, as a building in front of them erupted into a ball of flames with a triumphant bang. How the building came to be reduce to a burning, twisted mass of twisted metal one would never know.  
  
He gritted his teeth as he felt the red-hot metal and glass rain on his back. Not a sound of pain escaped him, not even when large pieces struck him. Tears of pain brimmed under his eyes, but he refused to show any sign of weakness.  
  
Once sure that it was okay to uncover her, he sat back, feeling weak. His gaze shifted over her body. Some small pieces had struck herm but she was otherwise fine. But he still didn't want to risk anything and raised his hand, filtering his chi to his healing ability. He knew he was weakened, he could feel it, but he did this anyway; he had made a promise to protect her. She was part of the generation that could change the world after the war.  
  
He trembled, feeling his weakness consume his body. Standing on quivering legs, he nodded at an officer. "Please escort the young lady to the nearest shelter. I have other business to take care of first."  
  
"Yes sir, general!" the officer, replied as he hefted Chelsea as though she weighed nothing.  
  
Once the policeman had left, General Marshall collapsed to the ground, closing his eyes. 'I protected her the best way I could…'  
  
**TBC...**  
  
**Author's Notes**: It's been a while since I've posted a chaper, hasn't it? At least I'm moving things along. It shouldn't be long before I am finished, and this time I'm not changing my mind. This is certainly long enough. I hope you all like it up to this point. Yes, there are more surprises ahead... So, keep reading. 


	38. Final Battle

****

Calais

"What? What's this…? Mitsukake…" Marcus felt himself shaking. He felt a chi briefly flare, then fade slowly until he could no longer feel a thing. He had been able to feel the chi of his fellow peers. He knew each one of them. The strongest one had been that of Dwight, but it had suddenly faded. 'Did he die? No, he couldn't have… No, I can't delude myself. I felt his chi at full strength.'

He gazed up. 'Then he must've used his chi to heal or protect someone. No, you didn't give your life again like you did before… You didn't give your life to protect Chelsea…' He smiled thankfully, as a thin solitary tear fell from his left eye. 'Thank you my friend. You've done something honourable even at the price of your own life.'

"Ya felt it too?" Brennan broke the silence around them, as he made his whispered remark; his gaze turned to Marcus, as he walked over and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"_Seadh_…" the lieutenant replied. "He gave his life to protect Chelsea. We made a promise to protect the younger generation of reincarnations. Both Ike and I have been graced with our lives and now it's your turn to have it. So, we made a promise to make sure that you'll get to live to see a world without war."

"He gave his life for Chelsea?" Brennan cried out, feeling torn between the ecstasy of knowing Chelsea was all right and the pain from the loss of General Marshall. He had been close to both of them as he had as one of the Suzaku seven.

"Yes, and that is all I know…" Marcus replied, removing his hat, to dedicate a moment of silence to his friend.

The other three followed suited and removed their own, while the two young adults nearby who had been talking to the men earlier, watched in silence, gauging what the discussion could be possibly be…

"I don't trust the! They're no better than the Germans!"

"We don't know that yet, Achan. We should trust them at least a little."

"But, Ariel! We trusted that bastard and it got us almost killed!" Achan hissed scathingly, his eyes flaring angrily, as he recalled the memory of the SS officer that had seemed to be a friend, but in the end, was really no better than the rest.

"That may be so, but they couldn't possibly be any worse than the other people. At least we have our powers to protect us." Arial assured her younger brother.

Achan snorted derisively. "A lot of good that'll do when we're outnumbered against their forces; whom also have powers that are probably better than ours to begin with."

"Would you stop being so negative for once? It would be a refreshing change." Arial sighed, raising a hand to her head, wondering how much longer she could deal with her brother before she felt like personally killing him, and saving the Germans the hassle.

"Just because I can't trust someone, doesn't mean I'm being negative! I'm being logical and not trusting the first thing that crosses my path because I'm bloody desperate. I do not wish to wind up dead because you trust anyone and everyone, Ariel!"

"That is a lie and you know it!" Ariel exclaimed, feeling her anger swell. Never had she ever disagreed so badly with her brother before, and on any issue. But lately, they seemed not to be getting along well as they once had. She believed that it was because they were spending all their time together and hadn't had a break from each other in so long.

"No, it's the truth and you can't take the truth can, you… No, you can't. You can't think of any other reply than your little denial."

"Stop your little lies! Mother would have washed you mouth out with soap if she had heard you say such things!"

"But she's not here and she's not hear because you just had to trust the damn Germans, didn't you? Didn't you? It's your fault she was killed!"

Ariel went to protect, but, before she could, something exploded just exactly where she and Achan were standing. The impact killed them instantaneously and sent their mutilated corpses flying a short distance, each landing apart, partially disembowelled, and their limbs not all fully attached. The shell of the rocket propelled grenade was embedded in the ground upon which the siblings had been standing just seconds before. A small crater indicated where the grenade had exploded. 

Ariel lay on the ground, a foot or so away from the sight of the attack; her body twisted in an awkward position, blood trickling from her torso, and entrails hanging from her stomach. Her face was caked in mud and blood. The expression on her face conveyed shocked, anger and hurt. Her eyes were frozen with a dull glint of shock.

Just a couple of feet away, Achan lay also dead. His left arm was clearly blown off, blood gushing from the wound. His head was twisted around, his eyes opened wide and his mouth slightly opened as a thin trail of blood trickled down the side. The left profile of his face, which faced up to the sky, was partially missing, as it had been maimed in the attack; the flesh hung off his skull limply.

The four men turned at the sound of the explosion. They raised their arms and shielded their faces from the dust and debris that erected from the ground with the attack. Once the smoke and dust settled, the four ran over to where the attack occurred and were met with the sight of the two dead bodies, belonging to Ariel and Achan.

Reaching down, Marcus moved the eyelids of each of the children into the closed position, gently turned their bodies onto the backs and stood back. Clutching his hands together in a prayer, he prayed for their souls and for God to give a home to the two children. Once he finished his prayer, he gazed up, noting the sudden influx of American and British forces in the area, as well as the 16th Irish Division. His gaze then turned to the sight where the attack originated from.

'They don't waste any time…' he thought as he ran forward, skilfully dodging another rocket grenade attack, and hopped into the bunker with Brennan, Jeremiah and Séamus, and took the rifle that Brennan held out to him. He quickly loaded it and hoisted it into position and prepared to attack any German forces that came their way.

"Brennan, Jeremiah, Séamus, be prepared to ward off all Nazis. This is a matter of life or death. After all, the only way we win is if we kill them." Marcus declared, as he aimed his gun, assumed a sniper position and crawled to the peak-out hole and began to fire, rapidly taking down the Germans who were near this post.

They watched in awe as he brought down one German after another. Marcus reloaded with such speed and dexterity; the three young men couldn't help but to watch. They felt inferior next to him, for they had never seen such remarkable marksmanship in their lives.

Shaking this off, the three also assumed position and mimicked the task that Marcus was doing, thus, increasing the number of Germans brought down by allied fire. They didn't hit all on target, but it still felt good to do something for their countries and to see such results. The thrill was intense; the knowledge was overwhelming and the experience, as each of the bullets shot out from the barrel of their rifles would forever transform each of these young men. Their childhoods were instantaneously vanquished to another place, as they entered manhood in an honourable way, proving the chivalry wasn't yet dead.

They knew that this was a matter of honour and valour, and if they lost, their names would be forever tarnished in the records of history.

~~~~

Among the group; the influx of American and British forces, were the two captains, JC Andreas and Russell Stonewall, who arrived with their forces, independent of one another, even though the arrival of their forces coincided with the other.

Giving specific orders to his men, Captain Andreas then took a round of ammunition, his rifle, bullets for his pistol and headed off in the direction of the town, which was for the most part, abandoned, except for a few hopefuls and a handful of German Soldiers. He knew that was where he wanted to go; that's where he felt the chi of Lt. Van Eyke; the man who wanted dead. However, little did he that there was someone else with this man on their hit list and that was Captain Stonewall, who had gone with just his rifle and pistol, without spare ammunition in search of the offending party…

Lieutenant Johann Van Eyke was issuing his commands from his control centre at the hospital, which is company used as headquarters in the area for communication, storage and distribution. It also served as a temporary holding location for any POWs, political prisoners and anyone else who opposed their occupation and rule.

He sat back, holding the microphone of the makeshift radio in his hand, as he reflected on his latest command for his troops to fan out and take sniper positions, luring in the allied forces. As he reflected, his turned his gaze to the map of the area he had mounted on the wall. Standing up, he took a position in front of it and studied it for a moment before he made some changes to the troop positioning.

He rested his hand on his chin for another moment, contemplatively, as he thought of the positive and negative of his plan; trying to find the slightest error that would be costly. He tacked up other coloured pins to represent allied movement, based on the reports he was getting. He then glared at it as he placed the allied positions. There was a large chunk converging near Calais from the north, and he had only snipers there, none of his heavy artillery units in order to gun down the allied forces by the dozens.

There were only two other officers working in this room. They served to take in calls from the field for constant updates from the officers that were out there, as well as any calls from the home front. They had been recently in contact with one of the generals there, but received a scathing response because the allied forces had landed, though suffering numerous casualties, made a dent in the German western front. 

Their orders came harshly, and were to be carried out ruthlessly. They were to cleanse the area of all allied forces and burn any bodies left over. They were to destroy allied morale, and deter any future attempt by the allies to penetrate the stronghold at Calais. They were warned that if the allied forces weren't repelled, that severe consequences awaited them at home.

This order had been passed down the chain of command and was being carried out in full-force on the front outside the control centre. The explosions, though no where actually near the building, on occasion, seemed to be rocking the foundation of the hospital, causing a bit of a distraction to the focus of the command area.

After writing down the latest bit, the officer handed it off to Lt. Van Eyke and went back to manning his station, as a third – one of about a dozen runners – came running into the room, curtly saluting the lieutenant and passing off a report. "Latest death count, sir! The figures are crude." 

Taking it, Lt. Van Eyke, pulled a cigarette from his pocket, lit it up and read over the statistics. "Any information on the so-called, 'allied forces'?"

"Based on my observations, sir, they are coming in at full force and coming on strong. We can hold some back, but there are far too many of them for our forces to hold out for a very long time. You'll have to send for reinforcements from Caen or Dunkirk, or another nearby stronghold, which doesn't need such a strong presence, because, even though we're outnumbered, it doesn't do us any good if these bastards can keep sending in their men by the boat-load."

"_Scheiße_!! _Fich, fich, fich_!!" Lt. Van Eyke grabbed the letter opener from his desk and plunged it with the force of his anger into the centre of the map. He let go after that, still staring hard at the map. Then, without turning, anger pervasive in his eyes, he scathingly ordered, "get the hell out and lay the area to waste! Spare no one! Take no prisoners! I don't want any of those bastards to get out alive!"

"J-_ja_…" the soldier replied, smartly saluting his superior before he ran out. He was scared shitless of Lt. Van Eyke as it stood; he really didn't like to see that man angered. It didn't pay to brew any hostilities with Lt. Van Eyke, for no one lived to tell about it.

'They are going to pay dearly for this…'

"Lichtenberg!" He barked out, pivoting violently on his heel and walking over, slamming a piece of paper down on the table. "Get these damn orders out to the field! I want the bloody allies filling those damn potholes on the road from where the landmines were detonated. Now, get off your worthless fat Catholic ass and get the hell out there! We have too many lollygaggers here; be useful!"

He pulled out the chair his soldier was sitting on and dumped the man on the floor. "Get before I make you a bloody human shield."

He turned, anger still blazing in his golden yellow eyes; his lips gnarled into a hateful expression as he ordered coldly. "What are you doing anyway, Lehmann? Enjoying a leisurely moment while the rest of us bust our asses so you can sit and watch yours grow? Get the hell up, use that gun of yours that is gathering dust and defend your mother land!" 

The cigarette he had been smoking was at the butt, so he took it and extinguished the smouldering ashes on Lehmann's hand.

Jumping, Lehmann rubbed the part of his hand that had been singed and glared indignantly at his commanding officer, before he coiled and turned away, internally shuddering. He knew better than to cross an angry superior officer, especially one like Van Eyke, who almost never lost his temper over anything! Thus, he seized his gun and ran out after Lichtenberg.

'You can't trust anyone…'

He sighed and ducked to pick up something. It was actually very lucky that he had just ducked, or a bullet that lodged itself in the wall, would have penetrated his skull, killing instantly. He growled, and knelt down, unsheathing his pistol, loading it and cocking it. He then reached and grabbed his helmet and rolled out into position and fired, hitting the doorframe.

"_Verdamnt_!"

His eyes scrutinised the vicinity critically. He felt the presence nearby. A thin smirk crept over his lips. 'So, it has begun. The little children want to play with the big bad wolf. That is fine by me. It gives me something to do. It's a good way to pass the time. I like playing with little children who don't have any common sense not to play with fire…'

He licked his lips in anticipation, as he knelt, remaining perfectly still; waiting for the ignorant allied soldier to return to take another attempt on his life. He could taste the bittersweet blood of the soldier on his lips; feel the hot life fluids streaming over his hands. The glistening blood tainted his vision. That was all he saw. It was all he could taste. It was all he could hear; he could hear his own pulse, as the sound of rushing blood pulsated in his ears.

He ceased even breathing as he heard footsteps approach. 'That's it, come closer. Each step brings the Germans closer to victory. You are going to try and be a hero, but you never will be; you're just a little delusional child.'

He held his breathe in keenness, his eyes uncultivated with murderous desire.

The footsteps stopped.

The soldier gazed up from under the rim of his helmet.

'He's around here. I can feel him.' The man's gorgeous brown eyes peered carefully into the room. He moved his head slightly, strands of beautiful chocolate brown hair trickling down into his sights. He pushed the bangs back as the fell in his face and pressed his back against the wall, reloading his pistol.

The British captain counted to ten, knowing that the German officer would be anticipating his arrival, especially since he had missed putting a bullet through that bastard's skull and out of his misery.

'…four…three…two……. Damnit…!' Captain Stonewall thought, as he dropped to the floor, rolling away, as he heard a shot whiz by his head, even though it wasn't all that close to him.

It was now or never…

"Don't move. Wait a minute. You shouldn't go in without any cover. You never go into battle without backup. You should have learned that from your last life, when you foolishly challenged me in battle." Captain Andreas purred snidely, as he slithered up silently behind Captain Stonewall.

He eyed the little equipment that Captain Stonewall was carrying.

"You should know better than to take on someone without being prepared. Is that all the ammunition and arsenal you are carrying into battle? It's a wonder you haven't been killed yet, Stonewall."

"No one asked for your opinion!" he retorted scathingly, glaring daggers at the blonde American.

"No, but you are poorly equipped for your endeavour. I'm covering your back, so don't get all uppity on me because I decided to protect your lousy hide."

"No one said you had---"Captain Stonewall went to protest, but instead gasped in pain as a bullet penetrated his neck, causing him to spasm slightly and cough up blood. He couldn't say anything more, as he gagged on the bloody gushing in rivers from the wound in his throat.

His pallor paled significantly in a matter of seconds preceding the shot. His eyes were wide, his shock and pain evident. He could only stare ahead for a minute or two before coughed up more blood and collapse, his knees giving out, unable to support his body more. The loss of blood was very severe.  
  
Being smart, Captain Andreas took cover around the corner when the shot was fired, but peered out long enough to see his ally fall because of German fire. He wanted to dart out to grab the dog tags from his fallen colleague, but he had second thoughts on that, as he watched Lt. Van Eyke saunter over, wielding nothing more than a pistol.

He didn't move from his position, he merely observed as the lieutenant nudged the other captain with the toe of his boot. When an anguished moan was erected from Captain Stonewall, indicating the man, though severely injured, was still clinging to life with all he had. He knew his colleague would have a chance for survival, if Lt. Van Eyke had turned the gun downward and fired, sending a bullet straight through the British captain's head.

The shot had a backlash on Lt. Van Eyke. When he fired the shot, he was standing over the fallen British officer, and the force of the bullet caused blood to splatter on the lieutenant, so, when he stepped away, in the light, the fresh blood covering him was highlighted, especially the droplets that slide down his face slowly.

He didn't even bother to wipe it away, as he walked around the dead body on the ground in search of something… In search of that one all so familiar chi, which he knew belonged to Nakago, better now known as Captain JC Andreas.

'He's here, I can feel him. He's probably just in front or behind me. I cannot proceed with too much confidence; it'll cost me my life if I do. I should be weary of every little sound, for it could mean the end of my life. I can't trust him or anyone else right now, not even my own men.' Lt. Van Eyke thought as he made each step with utmost prudence.

He stopped in mid-stride, detecting a chi ahead of him.

It was just in time too, because it allowed him to jump back gracefully, initiating a skilful back flip, landing on back on his feet silently. Where he had just stood, was now a crater. He knew what had caused that, the chi ball that the American Captain, JC Andreas, had cast in his direction.

So, it would seem the man was definitely not weak by any means. Chances are that the reincarnation of Nakago was much stronger, especially since he had some age to throw behind his skills, primarily because he would have found them at a young age and would have had a chance to develop and allow for them to mature.

'He's going to be tough to defeat…' Lt. Van Eyke rationalised, as he took a step back, not quite realising just how impossible victory against JC Andreas was going to be.

He gasped, suddenly feeling a hand on the back of his neck. He had felt the chi movement, but hadn't been able to react quickly in order to do anything to defend himself instantaneously. He feared moving. He knew that regardless this was Nakago or the reincarnation of; the man was still cold, ruthless, calculating and devoid of emotion.

~ "You've made one too many mistakes. The first of which is, not being drowned at birth." 


	39. Closure

Plura Ater Nox**Plura Ater Nox  
Chapter 37**  
  
"You've made one too many mistakes. The first of which is, not being drowned at birth."   
  
He took no pity on the German lieutenant and used the simple method Aimée had, and just expelled his attack directly into the victim and fried him completely. He kept his grip firmly on Lt. Van Eyke's neck for a short while, as he sent pulses of his chi blast lancing through the body of the smaller man. When he let the neck of Lt. Van Eyke go, there was barely anything left of the German officer, except for a crispy fried body.  
  
After he dropped the corpse of Lt. Van Eyke to the ground, Captain Andreas stepped around it, but stopped and smirk. He knew the building was free of German occupation now, and he needed to do something, no, show something to someone…  
  
Taking out his walkie-talkie, he paged the group in charge of POWs, and requested that Aimée be brought to the building where he now was. He didn't say why. He just felt like it was necessary. He had come this far; he had her in his grasp. He just needed to break her completely. He knew she had tried to use him, but, he still couldn't help but to cling to the feelings he had for her from before. He just needed a way to get through to her and make her realise some how, some way…  
  
After a few minutes of mindlessly guarding the area, Captain Andreas gazed up, hearing two sets of footsteps and the indignities being cried out from the girl. He smirked. Surely this will break her resistance, maybe offer insight as to why she even fell for the reincarnation of Tomo in the first place, which the American never did understand.  
  
"Thank you, Smith. Go back to your post."  
  
"You're welcome, sir!" the private replied, saluting his superior. He then added, before he left, "It was a miracle that we had very few casualties. It seems we taken a good number of these damned Krauts prisoner."  
  
"The great Americans, who gave their life, deserve to be honoured." Captain Andreas replied, before he dismissed the private, as he turned to Aimée, grabbed her wrist and pulled her over to where he was.  
  
"Ow! Let me go, you ignorant Yankee!"  
  
"Not until you answer my questions! You aren't getting off easily on this, woman!"  
  
"I don't have to do anything for you!" Aimée retorted, pulling her wrist out of his iron-grip; the force of his grip left a red-mark on her wrist. As she pulled back, he let her go; hence, she lost her balance for a moment. She would have regained it, if not for the fact that she tripped unceremoniously over one of the many dead bodies decorating the floors of the long corridors.  
  
Crying out in surprise, she fell backwards over the body, landing right square on her ass, in a rather awkward position, her legs tangled slightly over the severely burnt body, her upper body on the cold dank floor. She moaned softly, sitting up. She had yet to realise what had just happened; of course when she did, she would be horrified with what she discovered.  
  
She first glared up at Captain Andreas, then spat angrily, "aren't you even going to be a gentleman and help me up?"  
  
He stared baffled at her. He blinked; then bit his tongue to prevent himself from laughing out loud at her ludicrous response. The fact that she requested such a thing sent him into fits of hysterics, which he kept under control.  
  
"Help you? You're asking me for help? I don't know if I can, I mean, you seem to be pretty self-sufficient, so, I hardly think it's my place to help you."  
  
Growling, resentfully, she started to get up, but a shrill piercing scream erected from her as she moved to her feet and away from the body as quickly as she could. She hadn't realised it, but, unconsciously, she had sought security next to Captain Andreas, though she didn't quite understand why.  
  
After a short while, she pulled away. Scowling, she studied the area. "Johann should have been out by now…" she whispered in concern.  
  
"He was, and now he's where he deserves to be, rotting in hell witth the rest of those bloody krauts." Captain Andreas explained. "I killed him out of self-defence. This is bloody war; no time for stopping to make sure the person really wants to die or not. The person is a member of the enemy army, they are fair game."  
  
"So you killed him." Aimée replied scathingly.  
  
"In such blunt terms, yes. He did kill numerous allies of mine; he planted spies in the area. And don't tell me you actually think he loved you. You were just a little pawn in his game. You were lost and vulnerable. He used you to get to me. He knew I had my powers, and he didn't like that. He never liked you. You were just another means by which he could meet his ultimate goal.  
  
"You were caught in a bad position. You valued your life, so you decided to betray your friends, did you not? Then you thought you won the favour of Lt. Van Eyke, but really, all you did was set yourself up to be one of his many pawns. Just look at Yorck, also a pawn of Van Eyke's.  
  
"He knew you were weak; you had no choice. He took advantage of you, didn't he? I know he did; Faulkner reported to us the various things he overheard when he was spying on Yorck. Many of which included references to you; you as a spy. You were seen as nothing more than a stupid little French girl, who's only use, was serving as a good little whore.  
  
"He never did care for you. He knew he could manipulate you if he got to think I had forgotten or never cared about you in the first place. It worked, didn't it? You turned on me and tried to use me.  
  
"I know you tried to kill me several times, but you couldn't. I could have very well killed you, but I didn't. I didn't because I never stopped loving you; just like before, only I never figured out how to tell you and this time, you didn't give me a chance."  
  
Her visage paled, her body was ablaze with light tremors as she listened. Her blood ran hot and cold, her mind swam in a helix of mystification. Surely this was all a lie. She couldn't have possibly been manipulated and used again. She had learned from the last time, hadn't she? Didn't she have the common sense…?  
  
_"Yes, why don't you want to be loved? Do you want the same cold strict relationship you had with Nakago? Do you get a masochistic pleasure from it?!"_  
  
'I wanted to be loved! But… You took advantage of that. I wanted Nakago, and you knew that. You remembered how he treated me. You played off my emotions.' Tears fell from her eyes, trickling down her rouged cheeks, her eyes alight with injure. The hot indignant tears that fell from her eyes seemed to be endless.  
  
_"Honestly, have you ever felt loved? Ever wanted to know what it feels like to be part of a pair instead of the dispenser, giving out the service? You probably can only imagine what true affection and love feels like."_  
  
'I felt love! I did when I left for my mission. I felt it when I first encountered him this time around. I could have been one with him, but you convinced me that e didn't want me and that he would only use me, but in the end, it was the opposite.'  
  
"How can you say it doesn't feel nice to have someone touch you like this and not desire you to sell your body?! For once you feel the need to go with what your heart desires and mind, instead of just one, leading you to let your body to be used?!"  
  
'I was still used in the end…'  
  
Hot tears continued to streak her face.  
  
Captain Andreas merely watched while this happened. He said nothing. He knew he didn't have to say anything, the tears falling down her face and the shock in her eyes was enough to tell him what was going through her mind at this minute; a kind of despondency. He knew his words may have had some affect on her.  
  
He stood patiently, waiting for her to stop crying or at least move from her position. He didn't want to rush her. He knew it might be a very bad thing if he did, especially since some form of emotional trauma was crashing down on her psyche right now and the last thing in the world that she needed was for anything to make it any worse.  
  
Then, she unexpectedly collapsed in his arms, her body wracked with uncontrollable sobs.  
  
~~~~  
  
Stretching back, Brennan hefted his gun over his shoulder as he strolled down the now corpse-free corridor, in search of the two he had graveyard duty with. He didn't mind; at least two his friends were also going to suffer along with him on this issue.  
  
He knew Séamus was out front waiting. He had been leaning against the wall when he had left him. IT had been Séamus who suggested that Brennan go fetch Jeremiah for duty, he had yet come out. Brennan found the request odd, since Jeremiah was Séamus' twin brother, but nonetheless complied.  
  
Sighing, he rapped his knuckles on the door and pushed it open…  
  
He fell to his knees, the gag reflex kicking in.  
  
He felt a wave of nausea cascading over him.  
  
He turned sharply and fled. He had to get to a bathroom. He felt his stomach turning itself inside out. His gut was synched together in a tight vice.  
  
"Brennan?" Lt. Faulkner arched an eyebrow, as he felt a wind rush by him. He pivoted, facing the bathroom. He didn't need to see anything; the retching reverberations alone were enough to tell him what was wrong.  
  
He sighed and leaned against the door's frame.  
  
After a long moment, a pale, sickly Brennan emerged clutching his stomach. "Bloody hell… That was one nasty sight! Ugh…" he shuddered.  
  
"What's wrong?" Lt. Faulkner asked; his was gazed fixated ahead.  
  
"Jeremiah just took his life."  
  
"What?" he gasped out; turning to his friend in utter disbelief, he asked, "Did you check on Séamus yet? If not, go and check on him! If he's attached to his twin as much as he was as Suboshi, he'll need sedatives to keep him calm."  
  
"Of course."  
  
"SIR!!"   
  
Before Brennan and Lt. Faulkner left the area, they were forced to turn at the sound of a young man's voice, as he ran over to them, his face ablaze with anxiety. He skidded to an abrupt halt, and saluted his superior officer. "I was walking through the halls by Captain Julien César Andreas' room, when I heard a gun shot. I thought I should check on it. He's dead, sir. He shot himself in the mouth. Also dead is Miss Aimée Beauregard. I couldn't tell, but I think either he put something in her drink, or she swallowed a suicide pill."  
  
"He what? No, not another…" Lt. Faulkner gasped out then shuddered. He gazed around, sensing a bad omen about this place. His intuition on the matters of unwanted evil spirits was lively, warning him.  
  
He shook his head and turned to the private. "Have them prepared for burial. Send a notice to the American base on London alerting them about this, as well as all the other casualties if that hasn't yet been done. As for the girl… I don't know. Just give the information to the French government and hopefully they will be able to locate her family."  
  
"Roger that, sir!"  
  
Reaching out, Lt. Faulkner grabbed Brennan's wrist. His eyes were dead serious. "Listen and listen carefully. We have lost three people to suicide here in one day. If my intuition is right, Séamus will take his own life next. I do not want to see any more of my men and friends take their lives on my watch. Also, I will not risk your death, so, you are going to make like the wind and blow. You're going to London, finding Chelsea, marrying her and making her the happiest woman on the face of God's green earth. Don't like it, go anyway! I don't want any more of my good friends to die because of this bloody war."  
  
"But, Marcus, I promised I'd fight…"  
  
"No buts, boy! You're going home, you're taking Chelsea, sweeping her off her feet and making her your wife and spending the rest of your life with her! You're both going to die of old age! You are both going to be happy for once! I want her to be happy. She didn't get a chance at a life last time, she gave it for us. You are going to make that up to her and make sure she gets a long one, with you by her side.  
  
"I can survive without you and Séamus here. I am past my prime anyway, so, I'd much rather see you make Chelsea happy. She would be happy if you were by her side instead of fighting. She would rather have you at home with her then fighting for her honour. She wants you, period…."  
  
"Yer sure?"  
  
"Get out of here before I teleport you there myself." Lt. Faulkner playfully pushed Brennan toward the exit. Then, offering a gentle smile, he added, "don't forget to bring Séamus with you. It'll do him good to be away from this hell."  
  
Holding out his hand, Brennan waited for Lt. Faulkner to take it.  
  
Clutching hands, they gazed into the other's eyes. Brennan then pulled away and smartly saluted his friend. "It's been a pleasure serving you, sir."  
  
"It's nice to have my friends by my side when I'm in battle, but, now something more important awaits you. Go and make her happy, that is your mission soldier."  
  
~~~~  
  
She ran her fingers through her hair, pushing the sweaty bangs and sat back, gazing at the page in her typewriter. It was unusually warm today. The office was really muggy and the air thick. She felt like she was going to gag on it. Sighing, she pulled the page out the typewriter and handed it to her supervisor, and then asked if she could step outside for a minute to get some fresh air.  
  
Once receiving permission, Chelsea reached into the hip pocket of her skirt and pulled out the matchbook and the modest pack of cigarettes. Once outside the typing room, she took one out, stuck it in her mouth and lit up. She inhaled deeply as she walked down the hallway to the exit.  
  
Pushing the door open, she exhaled, holding the cigarette between her fingers, as she watched the traffic pass on Whitehall Street. They had done a wonderful job of cleaning up the debris from when she first arrived, but she still couldn't shake the image from her memory. She knew she would be seeing that for the rest of her life and there was nothing that she could do about it.  
  
Dropping the butt of her cigarette to the ground, she extinguished the smouldering ashes with the toe of her shoe as she pulled out a second one and lit up. She inhaled, and then pulled it out of her mouth as she exhaled, her gaze still rested on the street in front of her.  
  
"Got a spare match?"  
  
"Of course, sir." Chelsea replied, reaching into her pocket to pull out her match book. As she fished it out, she averted her gaze to the man; the voice had sounded familiar. She let out an ecstatic gasp, as she flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, holding him closely. "Brennan! Thank god, oh, thank god! You're safe!" Tears of happiness fell down her cheeks in throes.  
  
"Chelsea…" he whispered, holding her close; inhaling her scent. While he would have preferred to have been fighting for her, being with her also had its benefits. He hadn't realised it when he was over on mainland, but he had missed her terribly, as he found out now as he held her in his arms.  
  
Then, wasting no time, he effortlessly swept her into his arms. "We ain't waitin', we're going to find a cathedral and we're weddin' today! Today your life becomes better. Yer my queen and ya deserve nothin' less. Ya ain't gonna to object 'cause I say so."  
  
Gasping out, giggling, Chelsea gripped his shirt as she was swept off the ground so gracefully. "How can I say no now…? I did promise that I would marry you as long as you came back alive."  
  
"Then let's go now!"  
  
"But it's so soon!"  
  
"No it's not." Brennan replied, as he placed Chelsea back on her feet and knelt on one knee before her, taking her hand in his. He cleared throat. "Oh, beautiful maid'n Chelsea Llewellyn, will ya gimme yer hand in holy matrimony?"   
  
"_Dilys_!"  
  
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a simple case and opened it revealing a gold wedding band with a single diamond embedded in the centre. He had spent all of his life savings on this, but it was worth it. He did have a job, so it wasn't such a BIG deal, but it was still a large dent in his funds.  
  
He took the ring out of the box and slipped it on her finger. Standing up, he pulled her close, kissing her lightly, as she returned it. Then spontaneously, he grabbed her wrist. "Now let's do it! I ain't waitin' no more. I ain't gettin' no younger."  
  
Giggling, she followed behind him, allowing for him to pull her along. "You certainly don't waste any time in getting what you want, do you?"  
  
"I ne'er do. Now, no more yakkin'. We're getting' married and we start our new life today. Yer life begins today, and I'll protect ya from ev'rything. All ya gotta do is love me and be yer-self."  
  
"I don't want to sound rude, but why are you being so quick in getting this done?"  
  
"Because…" Brennan stopped in his track and took her in close. "Because I love you and I wanna make it official. I ain't fightin' no more, so, now it's time. Besides, Marcus sent me home for this reason, so I'm makin' the most of it. I'm getting' ya by my side for now and ev'r."  
  
"Oh Brennan…" Chelsea whispered, but her words were cut short as he placed his finger on her lips.  
  
"Let's say nothin', Chelsea. Let's just… enjoy each other…" he whispered, as he took her hand in his and led her to the steps of the cathedral….  
  
  
---> To epilogue 


	40. Silver Lining

Plura Ater Nox **Plura Ater Nox  
Chapter 38  
  
London**  
  
"How's he doing, doctor?"  
  
"He seems to be stable, though barely alive. He's been in a coma for almost a month now. When he was brought to the hospital I was ready to pronounce him dead on arrival, but there the faintest of life left in him and I couldn't run the risk of losing him. The country needs men like him in a time like this and we can't afford to lose any others."  
  
"Doctor, I was there when this man was brought in. He had no life left in him."  
  
The eyes of the doctor twinkled, a strange glint of brilliant read reflecting off his otherwise soft brown eyes. "You must believe in miracles, do you not, nurse?"  
  
"Of course I do, just like all good Christians, doctor. It's the will of God if a miracle happens. If this man was meant to live, then this miracle is the will of God." She replied as she handed him his stethoscope as he moved over to the man. She then went on to add, "Truly, it must be an act of God. The heavens must be smiling down on us. There were many men who were spared the trip to St. Peter."  
  
Sighing, the doctor gazed over his patient. The man seemed to be doing much better; in fact, his breathing was much stronger than it had been in ages. A self-satisfied smirk crossed his lips. So, the man was going to live, and everyone would merely think it was a miracle of God… not knowing the truth.  
  
He turned back to the nurse. "Please go attend the injured. Change their bandages, I'll be fine here."  
  
"Of course, doctor." She replied, as she left the room with a graceful sweep and departed in silence.  
  
Once she was gone, the doctor stepped back, holding up his hands, a small red ball of chi forming in his hands. 'I wish I could have saved the rest of my Seishi, but, at least I can save this one. He wasn't dead, so, it's not against the laws of the universe for me to be doing this. It would have been against all the laws of the world if I had interfered with the deaths of the others. After all, at least I can justify this on the grounds that he made a sacrifice for another…'  
  
He concentrated, allowing for the red light engulf the man. Once it had, in a matter of a few seconds it faded. Then, following it was a brief moment of silence before the man let out a shallow moan, moving very so slightly.  
  
'Good…' the doctor thought before leaving the room.  
  
A few minutes after the doctor had left the room, the man, stirred, his eyes opening slowly. He groaned. Oh yes, how he could feel the pain of his efforts to protect Chelsea. It had come at such a great price… almost the cost of his life. He didn't regret it though. It had been worth it. She had given hers as Chiriko, now it was his turn to do the same and protect her, and not because he felt he had to, but because he wanted to.  
  
Hoisting himself up so he was in a sitting position, General Dwight Marshall heaved a sigh. He felt a pang of guilt because he believe and had a feeling that his friends and allies likely believed he had met his demise. He wanted to curb that belief. Thus, closing his eyes, he focused his chi then systematically broadcasted it to his friends.  
  
He felt it bounce off three chi, belonging to his friends and off that of another person. He gathered from this that another one of his friends had died, as well as more of the reincarnated Seiryuu Seishi. But which ones was his next question that he wanted answered as he projected his chi again and attempted to read the others.  
  
'I feel Tasuki's…no, Brennan's. He's well, and he's close. He's not overseas. Chiriko's…Chelsea's is also close, in the same area as Brennan's. I feel Mark's, but he's not as close, and the other chi, the only one belonging to who is not a Suzaku Seishi is that of Suboshi's…'  
  
He half-opened his eyes, thinking of Suboshi's reincarnation and how unlike his previous incarnation the boy was. There was such a contrast between Séamus and Suboshi. It was night and day. General Marshall welcomed the change. The boy wasn't so bad when he had his temper under control. It also helped that the boy was now more mature than before and had some semblance of common sense.  
  
~~~~  
  
'A chi! A chi… no, not just any chi, a special one… Mitsukake…' Lt. Faulkner thought, feeling strange warmth cascading over his body. He shuddered as it travelled through his body. It was a miracle, by the word of Suzaku, it was a miracle! His friend's chi had only faded and he hadn't died.  
  
'Thank the heavens!'  
  
He wept tears of joy.  
  
He wasn't afraid to; no one was around to see this.  
  
'The heavens have spared my friends… Not all have died. Thank you, no da.' He thought, as he crossed himself, offering a prayer of thanks to the heavens.  
  
~~~~  
  
"Brennan! Did you feel that? Did you? You must've felt it! Oh God, I felt that! There is a silver lining in all this death and sorrow!" Chelsea exclaimed, clutching her hands to her heart, resting them over her left breast. Tears brimmed her in eyes. "He's alive!"  
  
"Yeah, I felt it. Hell, its here!" Brennan replied, a sigh of relief escaping him. Now he could thank the general for his heroic efforts that spared Chelsea.  
  
"He's awake, I can feel it. We have to find him, he's here in London, we should go see him and left him know his friends are by his side, ready to be there for him."  
  
"What makes ya think we'll find 'im?" Brennan asked, swinging Chelsea's hands with his. "There's lotsa people in the city; place is mighty huge."  
  
"But we can feel the chi!" Chelsea replied obstinately, pulling her hands back and folding her arms across her chest indignantly. "He's your friend, I'd think you'd be more inclined to go and see to his wellbeing! That's what good friends do!"  
  
"_Seadh, seadh_…" Brennan sighed, smiling at her.  
  
She poked him. "You know I speak English and Welsh, farm boy, now stop speaking to me in your lousy language and speak in English or I'll start talking to you in Welsh!"  
  
"Aw, gimme a break! Have a heart, dear…" Brennan pleaded.  
  
"Fine, but we're still going to see General Marshall." Chelsea replied as she seized Brennan's hand and pulled him along in the direction of the hospital. She knew what direction she was going in. She didn't need any help. She had enough sense to find where the general was.  
  
He allowed Chelsea to pull him along. It didn't bother him at all, in fact, it was just really cute.  
  
When they arrived at the hospital, they moved quickly past the medical staff, eventually after a short while coming upon the room that General Marshall had been set up in for his recovery. There was no time wasted on knocking (knocking's for chumps!), because Chelsea opened the door and left go of Brennan's wrist, moving over to her boss's bed quickly.  
  
"Chiriko, Tasuki…" General Marshall said; a thankful smile over his lips. "No, Chelsea and Brennan… my friends, thank you for coming. I'm sorry if I scared you and Mark. I wish I could have been there for you guys."  
  
"You've already done so much for us!" Chelsea had been trying to hold back the tears, but, instead, she broke down and took his hand in hers. "Thank you so much, Ike. I'm forever in your debt for this. "  
  
"No, it's ok, Chelsea. You aren't. I did it because we're friends. We fought together before, and now we're fighting together again." General Marshall assured her. "What I want you to do now, worry about Brennan; about your self. Don't worry about me, I'm getting old anyway. I'm happy as long as my friends are ok."  
  
"But what about yourself?" Chelsea asked, a frown of worry caressing her delicate features.  
  
"I'm not worried. I'll be ok." He assured her, touching a hand to her face. He brushed aside her tears. "Just focus on the present, forget about the past. It has no bearing now. Just be happy with Brennan; make him happy and he'll make you happy. You two deserve to have a chance this time at happiness.  
  
"Brennan, you never really had much of a chance to experience love.  
  
"Chelsea, this is your time to experience life itself.  
  
"Both of you make the most of this."  
  
"What about you?" Chelsea pressed, wanting answers.  
  
"I'm going to do something I did back a long time ago, and I'm going to fight on the western front with Mark, as I had during the Great War. We had fought together then and we should be doing that now. Once I'm out of here, I'm not making my contribution from the home front; I'm shipping out to the main land to join his company."  
  
He chuckled softly. "Don't look so worried, Chelsea, I'll be ok. I was destined for this, just like you're destined to lead a fulfilling life this time. Now, scram, go enjoy your freedom!"  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
"Damnit, woman, do I have to make it an official order?"  
  
"Well…uh…" she looked away, not quite sure how to reply.  
  
Sighing, the general turned to Brennan. "Take her out of here, and make her enjoy her life. Damn, she didn't get much of a chance last time and she's wasting it here."  
  
"Yeah, as ya say, Ike." Brennan replied, giving a toothy fanged grin. "As long as yer ok."  
  
"Damnit, people, I'm fine, quit worry about an old man and enjoy your lives! I'm fine and I'm not decrepit yet, so stop treating me like I'm fragile. I didn't protect Chelsea so you two could waste your time fussing about me and wasting your time in this dingy partially bombed-out hospital." General Marshall replied, trying to shoo the two out of the room.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't appreciate them visiting, it was just that he didn't feel like having them dwell on the past events. He didn't quite care for such depressing topics, they weren't the most pleasant things to think and talk about, especially with the events of the war disrupting their daily lives.  
  
"Are you---"  
  
"Yes I'm sure already damnit! Now go!" He ordered pointing to the door. His voice softened and he offered a coy grin. "Not that I don't appreciate your company, but you needn't worry much about an old man like me."  
  
"But I can't help it!" Chelsea retorted, sulking.  
  
"Don't look that way, didn't your mama teach you that if you make that face that it'll stay like that forever?!"  
  
"Yes, she did and she was wrong, as it is physically impossible. The faces that we make are done by the facial muscles and have no consequence on how the permanent state of our face is, unless something happens to drastically alter that."  
  
General Marshall winked. "I can't fool you, can I, Chiriko?"  
  
"No sir!"  
  
"Now, go please. I don't want to see you two again until I'm out of the hospital, got that?"  
  
"Yes sir!" the couple replied in unison.  
  
~~~~  
  
He wandered the long corridors of the cathedral's monastery, wordless. He hadn't said anything since the day that he had arrived, that fateful following the untimely, though expected death of his twin brother. He had seen it coming. His brother was never really one to fight in any battle or war, a peaceful, tranquil soul who thrived off the calm of peacetime. He knew that there was going to be a consequence to his brother joining the group for this mission… And that consequence was the ultimate price any one could pay, and Jeremiah had paid with his life.  
  
'I knew it had been coming, but I was powerless to stop it. I warned him not to go. I hadn't wanted to go. I knew I should have trusted that instinct, but why did I? Because of my brother… He wanted to, and I could have stopped him, but I didn't. I should have… It's my fault, all my fault…'  
  
This was one of many thoughts that plagued the mind of Séamus as he tried to come to terms with the death of his twin, which he almost refused to accept. The loss had been overwhelming, he had felt like his entire being had been torn in two. The death had driven a stake into the core of his soul and being. He now was void of the very soul that made him…  
  
He lost the will to go on. He had lost a reason to live. He had no family left; no woman who loved him – he had lost her when some low-life assassin had come along and shot her through the skull killing her instantly. That pain alone had poured ice cold grief on his fragile being. But, it had been nothing compared to when he lost his twin…  
  
He lost everything…  
  
He had been at wits end; ready to take his own life.  
  
But, there had been a light at the end of the tunnel. A white light; a warm light, one that reminded him that he had one other purpose in life. He could channel his grief and guilt into something that would help him lose himself without taking his life. He gave himself over to God. He became a monk, swearing to a life of celibacy. It was the only way besides taking his own life that he could deal with the death of his twin.  
  
The day he had arrived had been a gloomy and wet day; it was pouring rain; cold rain. The skies had just opened up, and the grey clouds just wouldn't go away; they followed him everywhere he went, serving as an eternal reminder to his gnawing guilt that he felt would eat him alive.  
  
He remembered when he first walked in. He was dressed in his GI uniform, soaked to the bone, droplets of cold water dripping off his face and from his hair. His clothes clung to his body and his steps were mechanical, his sights dead ahead; his eyes almost lifeless. He had walked in, passed the priest on duty up to the dais, where he had collapsed.  
  
It was after a very long moments of silence that he had felt a hand on his shoulder and a sweet voice calling him; asking him if he was all right.  
  
He had given only one reply, "it is the will of God; His will is for me to give up everything and serve my penance for my guilt and make amends by surrendering myself to His will and serving him…"  
  
The priest had gazed into Séamus' eyes for a pregnant moment before he made his reply of, "you've seen a lot haven't you? The horrors of war have driven you to feel this guilt… No, it's something more, but, my child, you needn't speak of it. Come; let's get you dry clothes so you don't catch your death."  
  
The one statement he had made then had been the first and last time he had ever spoken since he had arrived at the cathedral. Now, it had been over a few months since that day. He still wouldn't speak, but he was feeling a little better than he had when he first join. The guilt was there, but he no longer minded it. He at least felt like he was doing what was truly right.  
  
Three pairs of eyes watched him pass.  
  
"Father, aren't you going to say anything to him? He's been silent for far too long. It isn't healthy for anyone to go that long without talking to another person." The first of the brothers remarked.  
  
"Yes, I agree. I've tried several times to talk to Brother Séamus but he never responds to me." The second replied.  
  
"He has experienced a great pain, a loss. He's feeling very guilty for it. It's best to let him work his way through it through deeds and service to the Lord." The father explained. "I have watched him, this is healing him. If the healing can have this much affect on him, he could bring such healing to the community and restore that zeal, renew their faith."  
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"That he is my successor."  
  
"No! Father, he hasn't been here that long and he never says a word, is that the kind of man you want to be the leader of the church?"  
  
"If I give him this chance, he could do great things for the community.  
  
"I advise that you don't do this…"  
  
"I know what I'm doing. I sense that he will do a great good for the church. There was something about him that day when I met him. He has seen a lot. He will do well to be a servant of God as the leader of one of God's sanctuaries."  
  
With that, the father turned and trailed after Séamus, catching him before he entered the back room where the library was. He placed his hand on the door, keeping it shut, a gentle warm smile caressing his lips.  
  
"Brother Séamus, how are you this morning?"  
  
He waited as he read the young man's features.  
  
"Ah, you're doing better, that's good." The father replied as he Séamus had actually spoken. He cleared his throat and added. "I'm doing my usual service today; however, I want you to do one of the readings and to lead a hymn. You would make an excellent addition to the priesthood. I sensed something unique about that first day, something that told me that you would be able to make people feel the presence of God in the heart and welcome Him. I felt it that day and now I want others to feel it…"  
  
Séamus turned his gaze to the father, his blue eyes filled with shock; incredulously. His lips began to move, the first words to be spoken in months softly escaping. "Me… You want me to…"  
  
"Yes, I want you to."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I have chosen you to be my successor. There is no time like the present to allow you to have the chance to given guidance to a war-torn community and restore faith; give them hope that there is a silver lining in the cloud."  
  
"But my penance; I owe a debt to God…"  
  
"And that, my son will be repaid as you speak, spread his word to the people of the community, and let them again embrace his kindness and love that has been forgotten during this war."  
  
Bowing his head, his long bangs cascading into his sights. "I'm humbled and honoured father that you would pick me of all the brothers to do this. I shall do my best to make God come alive in the hearts of the people again and restore that lost faith."  
  
"You're closer to being healed, my brother."   
  
"Explain…"  
  
"This is the first time you have spoken since you came. This is a sign that you have come to terms with your pain and you have embraced it. You have allowed for yourself to see passed this and beyond into the future. Because you have done this, you are ready to guide others through their pain.  
  
"This is the reason you are my successor because you will be the one best able to understand the pain of loss and anguish that the faithful have. The other brothers don't, for they have come to this monastery before they were exposed to pain. All humans experience pain some time in their lives. You've already gone through that; it has given you something greater than you'll ever know…"  
  
"I understand what you mean." Séamus nodded in reply as he took the rosary out of his pocket and toyed with it. "And, father, I will not let you down, or any of the people in this community."  
  
"I'm happy for you, and so is the Lord. He was shining his holy light on you the day that you wandered into this cathedral seeking guidance. He has brought you to this point and he is still behind you, giving you everything you need, my son. You'll fair well as my successor."  
  
~~~~  
  
Yawning, Lt. Faulkner gazed over the map of the area. He had marked off the areas that they had drove the Nazis out of and had claimed back for France, but there was a great deal to do accomplish before they could fully restore the French government to power. He sighed, studying what he had in front of him. There was something wrong with his plan, but he couldn't quite place it…  
  
"You might want to try coming in from the east instead of the west, and sending another in front the north. They'd be expecting from the south, especially since there was a large invasion force sent to Italy, as well as to Northern Africa and they're making their way north have a great number of successes."  
  
"Hmn, good point."  
  
"You might also want to let the professional handle this, Marcus."  
  
Turning, sharply, Lt. Faulkner came face to face with his friend Dwight. This was a great shock. He hadn't expected this, nor had he any idea that the man was in the area. He knew his friend had been spared the death route, but he didn't know his friend would repay his good fortune by taking his life in his hands and risking everything by coming out to the western front.  
  
"What? Not happy to see me, Mark?"  
  
"It—it's not that, Ike, it's just that well, I didn't quite expect to see you out here…" Lt. Faulkner stumbled over his answer, as he tried to explain exactly how he felt about the circumstances. He didn't want to sound rude, for he was grateful for his friend being here.  
  
"I decided to fight… For old time's sake; just like in The Great War." General Marshall explained, as he picked up the pen that Lt. Faulkner had been using and began to make changes to the map that had the layout for the next attack by allied forces. He made some changes that he felt would be in the best interests of the 16th Division.  
  
"It'll be a pleasure to work with you again, old friend." Lt. Faulkner replied, as he made note of the changes that his friend was making. They were quite notable, though very logical.  
  
Clearing his throat, he queried, "so, how exactly did you get here?"  
  
"Parachuted in with reinforcements. You guys were running a little low. I also noticed you sent Brennan home…"  
  
"I'm sorry, no da…  
  
"It was a good judgement call."  
  
Lt. Faulkner blinked surprise that he didn't chastise for his action. He stood, baffled, not quite understanding why the general didn't say anything more on the issue. Usually, unless there was extreme justification, no soldier was sent home from the war front, but it seemed that the general in this case was turning a blind eye to it. He must've done some double-shuffling to get the incident ignored.  
  
Gazing up, General Marshall set the pen down and picked up the rifle, tossing it to Lt. Faulkner. "Time again to teach those Nazis a lesson they'll never forget, and this time, it's for real."  
  
"Of course!" Lt. Faulkner caught the rifle, as General Marshall picked up the other, leading the way out of the room and out to where the soldiers were either on break, on duty or sleeping. In either case, most stopped what they were doing and drew to where the group was, ready for the assignment of the next attack.  
  
It was encouraging to see their general out on the field, ready to fight with them; it was a boost to morale and spirits. The silence awoke the others who were sleeping. Everyone was at the disposal of the general, ready to serve, for they knew, they wouldn't be sent to meaningless deaths. He didn't like to see his men die and always told them that he appreciated their sacrifice for their countries and their deaths weren't in vain.  
  
"Take a knee, men. I want you to all picture our homeland. The women and the children. They are who we are fighting for. I want you to picture your families. They are at home waiting for you. You will return home safely because I don't send my men to meaningless deaths. I want you to picture your girlfriends or wives. See their smiles, the way their faces light up when they see you. You will get to go home to that because you'll fight and you'll win. All of you are my men, your lives are important to someone. You will not die in vain. If you die, which I hope you don't, you'll die knowing that you're ensuring the future security of your country and your families."  
  
He held up his right hand, making the letter "V" with his first and second fingers; the symbol for victory.  
  
"Victory will be ours, I promise you that. You will go home and look back and remember how honourably you served your country and you will be remembered as a hero, no matter how small or big your contribution to the war is.  
  
"God bless you all and God save the King."  



	41. Epilogue: Into the Future

Plura Ater Nox**Plura Ater Nox  
Epilogue**  
  
_Another mother's breakin'  
Heart is taking over  
When the violence causes silence  
We must be mistaken  
It's the same old theme since 1916_  
  
Reaching over, Chelsea turned down the radio as she wandered into the room, her husband, Brennan, regaling their granddaughter with the tale of his contribution to the events of World War Two. She sighed softly.  
  
_In your head,   
In your head they're still fightin'  
With their tanks  
In your head they are dyin'  
In your head, in your head_  
  
The lyrics of the song on the radio spoke volumes of truth and seemed to be fitting to the theme of Brennan's story. She stood in silence, as she waited for her husband to finish telling the tragic ending of the tale.  
  
She watched as her granddaughter's attention was transfixed to Brennan, as the man ran his fingers through his grey hair pensively. She listened as well, enjoying her husband's version of the tale. How it was different from Séamus'. The pair has their own way of telling the story.  
  
"Who took this picture?"  
  
"One of Andreas' men, while we was on break before we delegated graveyard duty to make sure none of 'em bloody Nazis came on back lookin' for more trouble."  
  
The young girl paused, taking the picture in her hands, the image of a younger version of her grandfather engraved in her mind. He had been a handsome man, much like her father was. She could also see parts of herself in him as well.  
  
Gazing up, she handed it back to her grandfather.  
  
After a moment of repose and silence, she queried, "Granddad, how many of the people in the picture are still alive?"  
  
"Séamus is. His twin, Jeremiah went mad from the war n' took his life. I remember that day too well. We'd finished our fightin' and after roundin' up the bloody Nazis, we secured the area n' set up the patrol duty list. Jeremiah was to have been on shift with me and Séamus, but, the day's events turned him mad and he turned his pistol on himself and took his life that night."  
  
Brennan had been the first to enter the room where Jeremiah had taken his life. He had been intending to alert his friend that it was time for the shift, however, when he had entered; he had been met with a sight that would haunt him for the rest of his life, more than the mindless killing that took place on the battle field.  
  
The dead lifeless body of his friend, the eyes open, glassy, the expression stunned and the puddle of blood around the head, staining the hair… The pungent aroma, the drying blood, the splattered blood on the wall… the dead hand that clutched the gun, the glass of whiskey, the broken bottle, the shards of glass littering the floor… everything. The image had been forever engraved in his mind. It was something he would never forget and bring to the grave with him.  
  
"Captain Andreas and Aimée took their own lives. Lover's suicide... She was overcome with grief, guilt and regret; self-hate. She considered herself unworthy of Andreas and took her own life. He didn't wanna lose her 'gain, so he also took his life." He shrugged. "Though, I didn't consider it to be a loss…"  
  
His amber eyes perused the photograph. "Lieutenant Faulkner remained in the army and is still there, but he is likely going to die any day now, he's real old n' he ain't what he was before. He is in the hospital now. He wouldn't let me fight, made me return home to Chelsea. He wanted me to make sure Séamus was also safe. He said his life didn't matter, long as me n' Chelsea was safe.  
  
"General Marshall almost died in the heat of battle. He was a good friend to us all." Tears brimmed at Chelsea's eyes as she recalled the distant memory, her heart filling with remorse, as she recalled his death, as she did a thousand times a day. "He would have died trying to protect me…"  
  
"We fer a while believed that he had died, but by some miracle, he lived, God bless him. We was so happy to find that he only went into a coma. At least God spared 'im, which was good." Brennan said, his voice soft, as he sat back, reflecting on the past.  
  
"What happened to General Marshall? How is he? Is he still alive?"  
  
"No, my child, he's quite old, and it's a miracle that Marcus has lived this long." Chelsea explained. "Both men died of very old age. Ike died about two years ago in his sleep, his heart just stopped. Marcus is the oldest one left, and he's almost a hundred and four years old…"  
  
In the background, the phone rang.  
  
"Good afternoon?" Chelsea answered the phone. Her features collapsed into sadness. "Yes, thank you for calling, I'll tell him immediately, Father."  
  
She swallowed. "Yes, we shall be there shortly."  
  
She turned to her husband. "Brennan, dear? We must get to the hospital now, there is an emergency. Marcus wanted a chance to say goodbye. That was the Father calling to tell us of Marcus's request."  
  
"Damnit." Brennan growled. "Ah well. Let's git." He turned to their granddaughter. "Well, get on; get home before your mama comes here ready to give me the fifth degree 'cause I kept you."  
  
"Yes. Thanks, granddad. But, you're going to tell me the rest one day."  
  
"I've told you everything."  
  
~~~~  
  
Chelsea had donned her good Sunday church clothes with the matching hat and handbag. She walked, her arm linked through Brennan's, as they looked for the man who had called them to the hospital. She wanted a chance to say goodbye to Marcus. She hadn't got the chance to say goodbye to many of the others. This would be painful, but at least she knew her friend was going to heaven for his work for the good Lord.  
  
Her eyes brightened as she looked over, catching sight of the man that had been present with Marcus and made the call for her and Brennan to come down to the hospital, long enough to say their final farewells to Marcus.  
  
"Mrs. Mackenzie, I'm sorry to have brought you here on a tragic note. But, alas, we must hurry; I'm giving him his rites." Father Kennedy replied, as he took her hands. He smiled reassuringly at her.  
  
That was another change. Brennan remembered this all too well. His friend had been absolutely devastated when his twin had willingly took his own life without warning and put a bullet through his temple, taking his life. The consequences had greatly affected Séamus deeply. As a result, when he had returned home, he was too delusional to think clearly, for the loss of his twin brother for the second time was far too great.  
  
The loss had been too much for the young man, that instead of following or even acknowledging his twin's suicide, he had instead joined the Catholic Church as a brother, a monk. He rose through the ranks, finding a peace in the solace of guiding others through the ecstasy of happiness and the valleys of melancholy.  
  
He felt a remorseful happiness for his friend's relief from the tragedy. That was twice; in both lives he had lost his twin. He did take it much better than he had last time. Brennan of course, had a similar reaction, what with watching Jeremiah drown himself again and all. That brought back memories of the failed summoning when Chiriko had turned out to be Seiryuu Seishi, Amiboshi. He, along with Tamahome, had pursued the boy through the streets of Eiyou, the capital of Konan, eventually cornering him at a swelled river, driving him to drastic measures, taking his own life… Incurring the proceeding events that turned their lives upside down.  
  
"How is Marcus?" Chelsea queried softly.  
  
"He's hanging on. He said he doesn't want to be taken to the gates of heaven before St, Peter until he was able to say goodbye to you two." Father Kennedy replied solemnly.  
  
Leading the way up, he rapped gently on the door. Entering, he picked up his bible where he left it and approached the bed. "My son, your friends have arrived to watch over you as the angels take you to heaven."  
  
Marcus gazed up at Father Kennedy, his eyelids barely open. He spoke weakly. "Thanks for bringing my friends, Father." Sadly, he gazed at his remaining friends, the ones who hadn't been cursed to an early grave. "My friends…I pray, one day, we shall again meet…"  
  
It seemed strange to him, even after all these years, that he was a military man and had left his religious roots and the boy who had once been part of the feared IRA was now a respected priest, whom was looked for, for guidance.  
  
He brushed his hand over the face of the retired lieutenant, sprinkling holy water on the forehead of the dying man. He turned his eyes to the friends. "I have received his confession already. Now, let us pray for him."  
  
_LORD HAVE MERCY ON US.  
CHRIST, HAVE MERCY ON US.   
LORD, HAVE MERCY ON US.   
  
HOLY MARY, PRAY FOR HIM.  
ALL YE HOLY ANGELS AND ARCHANGELS,   
HOLY ABEL,   
ALL YE CHOIRS OF THE JUST,   
HOLY ABRAHAM,   
ST. JOHN THE BAPTIST,   
ST. JOSEPH,   
ALL YE PATRIARCHS AND PROPHETS,   
ST. PETER,   
ST. PAUL,   
ST. ANDREW,   
ST. JOHN,   
ALL YE HOLY APOSTLES AND EVANGELISTS,   
ALL YE HOLY DISCIPLES OF THE LORD,   
ALL YE HOLY INNOCENTS,   
ST. STEPHEN,   
ST. LAWRENCE,   
ALL YE HOLY MARTYRS,   
ST. SYLVESTER,   
ST. GREGORY,   
ST. AUGUSTINE,   
ALL YE HOLY BISHOPS AND CONFESSORS,   
ST. BENEDICT,   
ST. DOMINIC,   
ST. FRANCIS,   
ALL YE HOLY MONKS AND HERMITS,   
ST. MARY MAGDALENE,   
ST. LUCY,   
ALL YE HOLY VIRGINS AND WIDOWS,   
ALL YE SAINTS OF GOD, MAKE INTERCESSION FOR HIM.   
BE MERCIFUL, SPARE HIM, O LORD.   
  
BE MERCIFUL, DELIVER HIM, O LORD.   
AND FROM THY ANGER,   
FROM AN UNHAPPY DEATH,   
FROM THE PAINS OF HELL,   
FROM THE POWER OF THE DEVIL,   
FROM ALL EVIL,   
BY THY NATIVITY,   
BY THY CROSS AND PASSION,   
BY THY DEATH AND BURIAL,   
BY THY GLORIOUS RESURRECTION,   
BY THY ADMIRABLE ASCENSION,   
BY THE GRACE OF THE HOLY GHOST THE COMFORTER,   
IN THE DAY OF JUDGMENT,   
  
WE SINNERS BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US.   
THAT THOU SPARE HIM, WE BESEECH THEE TO HEAR US.   
LORD, HAVE MERCY ON US.   
CHRIST, HAVE MERCY ON US.   
LORD, HAVE MERCY ON US. _  
  
Again, Father Kennedy sprinkled holy water on the departing son. He pulled back, gazing down. His hands clasped together, as another prayer crossed his lips. He crossed himself, as he clutched his rosary.  
  
He offered another prayer, as Marcus sighed softly, the heart monitor beeping ominously, an indication of imminent death.  
  
_TO THEE, O LORD, DO WE COMMEND THE SOUL OF THY SERVANT, N., THAT BEING DEAD TO THE WORLD HE MAY LIVE UNTO THEE; AND WHATSOEVER SINS HE HAS COMMITTED THROUGH THE FRAILTY OF HIS MORTAL NATURE, DO THOU, IN THY MOST MERCIFUL GOODNESS, FORGIVE AND WASH AWAY._  
  
He crossed himself, as the two others, Chelsea and Brennan did the same, an utterance of "amen." Crossing their lips as they watched their friend close his eyes and slip into that eternal good night.  
  
Reaching down, Father Kennedy brought the blanket up over Marcus and again crossed himself. He looked to the other two, who nodded, each crossing them selves before they left the room. As they did, the Father pressed the call button for the on duty nurse to come and summon for the doctor.  
  
The three now stood in silence amongst each other in the hall facing each other. They were now the only ones left.  
  
"Father, it's now only us." Chelsea whispered.  
  
"Yes. How much has changed since the days of the war. So many of us came and went; many of us lost our lives. We lost friends… I can't believe that it's only us now, out of all the Seishi. All the rest have died; and mostly during the heat of the Second World War. Such a tragic loss." Father Kennedy replied softly.  
  
Sighing he smiled softly, changing topics. "I'm going to prepare for his burial. Perhaps, Brennan, you would like to say a few words about Marcus. You were one of his dearest friends."  
  
  
"I could. Yeah, I'd like to." Brennan replied. He felt closeness to all his friends and the Father. He had only positive things to say of them, nothing condemning or negative.  
  
"I shall talk to you soon." Father Kennedy said, as he shook his friend's hand and nodded, giving a pleasant smile, which was contradictory of the sadness perpetually dancing in his now dull blue eyes.  
  
~~~~  
  
Now alone in the small apartment above the Cathedral, Father Kennedy found a moment of solace to himself, as he removed his robes. He wore only the black shirt with the white collar and the matching black pants, as he sat in the plaintive solitude, his mind wondering.  
  
In hand, he clutched his rosary beads. Sighing, he leaned to the side, seeking what he believed to be a brief nap, but didn't realise that when he closed his eyes, he would only feel five more minutes of life before he too slipped away into that finality.  
  
Inhaling slowly, he exhaled, his breath drawn out…  
  
And then… The rosary beads fell from his hand, no more air going in, nor any coming out, as he lay. He looked like he was sleeping peacefully, but, in truth; his peaceful rest was a deceiving cover for the death that claimed him.  
  
*~*~*~* THE END *~*~*~*  



End file.
